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THE    ELEMENTS    OF    ETHICS 


Digitized  by  tine  Internet  Arciiive 

in  2008  witii  funding  from 

IVIicrosoft  Corporation 


littp://www.arcliive.org/details/elementsofethicsOOmuir 


THE 


ELEMENTS   OF   ETHICS 

AN 

INTRODUCTION  TO  MORAL  PHILOSOPHY 

rf7f 

BY 


J.   H.    MUIRHEAD,   M.A. 

LECTURER    IN    MENTAL    AND    MORAL    SCIENCE,    ROYAL    HOLLOWAY    COLLEGE, 

EGHAM;     ASSISTANT    EXAMINER   IN    PHILOSOPHY    IN   THE 

UNIVERSITY   OF  GLASGOW 


Ta  Kad-fiKOVTa  cJs  eirLtrav  rats  O'x^o'eo'ij'  irapa/JLeTpeirai, 

EPICTETUS 

"  There  is  ho  other  genuine  eiithicsiasm  for  humanity  than  one  which 
has  travelled  the  common  highway  of  reason — the  life  of  the  good  neigh- 
bour and  the  honest  citizen — and  can  never  forget  that  it  is  still  only  a 
further  stage  of  the  same  journey." — T.  H.  Green 


NEW  YORK 

CHARLES    SCRIBNER'S    SONS 

1895 

\All  rights  reserved  ^ 


COPYRIGHT,    1892,    BY 
CHARLES    SCRIBNER'S   SONS 


vJi 


3T- 
?  100  I 

Y\'B3 


TO 
MY    UNIVERSITY    EXTENSION. 

AND   OTHER   STUDENTS, 
THIS   HANDBOOK   IS    INSCRIBED 


PREFACE 


This  manual  has  been  written  with  a  special  view 
to  the  wants  and  difficulties  of  University  Exten- 
sion students,  to  whom,  in  the  first  instance,  the 
substance  of  it  was  given  in  a  course  of  lectures. 
Though  attempting  to  deal  with  the  most  recent 
phases  of  ethical  problems,  it  does  not  profess  to 
treat  them  in  an  original  manner,  but  merely  to 
apply  to  their  solution  ideas  which,  owing  to  the 
labours  of  the  best  thinkers  of  our  own  time  and 
country,  are  now  common  property.  Those  of  my 
readers  who  are  acquainted  with  the  history  of 
thought  in  the  field  of  Moral  Philosophy  will 
readily  recognise  the  debt  I  owe  to  the  epoch- 
making  writers  Plato  and  Aristotle  among  the 
ancients,  Kant  and  Hegel  in  modern  times.  Only 
second  to  these  in  importance  for  the  student  are 
their  distinguished  exponents  in  Germany  and 
Great  Britain,  Erdmann,  Zeller,  T.  H.  Green,  and 
Professor  Edward  Caird.  For  those  who  are  as 
yet    beginners    in    philosophy,    my    best    hope    in 


viii  Preface 

writing  this  manual  will  be  realised  if  they  are 
stimulated  by  it  to  apply  themselves  to  these  and 
other  perennial  sources  of  ethical  inspiration. 

Students  who  are  familiar  with  recent  conti- 
nental literature  on  the  subject  may  be  surprised 
at  the  absence  of  all  allusion  to  the  ethical  writ- 
ings of  Wundt,  Steinthal,  Paulsen,  Hoffding,  and 
others.  The  reason  of  this  omission,  as  well  as 
of  the  general  character  of  the  references,  has 
been  my  desire  not  to  burden  a  book  which  is 
meant  for  a  special  class  of  English  readers  with 
references  to  authors  to  whom  they  may  not  have 
ready  access. 

In  the  preparation  of  these  sheets  for  the  press, 
besides  the  assistance  I  have  obtained  from  the 
Editor  of  this  series,  I  have  to  acknowledge  my 
obligations  to  Mr.  J.  S.  Mackenzie,  of  Trinity 
College,  Cambridge,  whose  criticisms  upon  the 
proof  I  found  extremely  valuable.  But  my  chief 
thanks  are  due  to  Miss  M.  S.  Gilliland,  who  read 
the  whole  of  my  manuscript  and  made  many  help- 
ful suggestions,  both  as  to  the  matter  and  the 
form  of  treatment. 

London,  January,  1892. 


CONTENTS 


BOOK    I 

THE   SCIENCE    OF   ETHICS 

CHAPTER   I 

THE    PROBLEM     OF    ETHICS 

PAGE 

§  I.     How  can  there  be  a  problem  at  all?      ....  3 

§  2.     General    description    of   conditions   under    which    the 

problem  rises    ........  6 

§  3.     Historical  illustration  from  the  case  of  Greece      .          .  9 

§  4.     Illustration  from  our  own  time     .....  10 

§  5.     Effect  of  study  of  ethics  on  our  general  view  of  life  12 

CHAPTER    H 

CAN    THERE    BE    A    SCIENCE    OF    ETHICS? 

§  6.  Difficulty  in  the  conception  of  such  a  science  .  .  15 
§  7.     Practical  difficulty  in  the  conception  of  a  science  of 

conduct    .         .         .         .         .         .         .         .         .18 

§  8.  What  may  be  expected  of  a  science  of  ethics?  .  .  19 
§  9.     Comparison  of  ethics  as  so  interpreted  with  Intuitionist 

and  Theological  ethics      ......       23 

CHAPTER    in 

SCOPE    OF    THE     SCIENCE    OF    ETHICS 

§  ID.     In  what  sense  ethics  differs  from  the  natural  sciences  .       26 
§11.     Ethics  as  a  "  practical  "  science    .....       32 

§  12.     Has  ethics  to  do  with  what  ought  to  be  rather  than 

with  what  is?   .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .34 

§  13.      Distinction  between  ethics  and  politics         ...       36 


Contents 

BOOK    II 

MORAL    JUDGMENT 

CHAPTER    I 


THE    OBJECT    OF    MORAL    JUDGMENT 


§  14.  What  is  conduct? 

§  15.  Apparent  exceptions  to  definition 

§  16.  What  is  will? 

§  17.  Relation  of  desire  to  will  and  character 

§  18.  Will  and  self 

§  19.  Conduct  and  character  .... 

§  20.  Is  motive  or  consequent  the  essential  element  in 

duct  as  the  object  of  moral  judgment? 

§  21.  Meaning  of  motive       .         .         .         .         . 

§  22.  Motive  and  intention    .         .      "   . 

§  23.  Bearing    of  results    on  question  between  motiv 

consequent        ...... 

§  24.  Will  and  motive   ...... 

§  25.  Summary      ....... 


and 


PAGE 

43 
44 

45 
48 

50 

52 

55 
56 
58 

59 
60 
61 


CHAPTER   II 

THE    STANDARD    OF    MORAL    JUDGMENT — MORAL     LAW 

§  26.  The  two  general  forms  of  moral  judgment 

§  27.  Which  of  these  is  prior? 

§  28.  Three  stages  in  reflective  analysis 

§  29.  (i)   Morality  as  obedience  to  external  law 

§  30.  (2)  The  law  as  internal — conscience 

§  31.  Mistaken  objection  to  Intuitionalist  view 

§  32.  Elements  in  conscience 

§  33.  Defects  of  conscience  as  ultimate  standard 

§  34-  (3)   Morality  as  determined  by  end 

§  35.  General  characteristics  of  the  end 

§  36.  These    characteristics   of  the   moral  end  the  basis  of 
commonly  recognised  attributes  of  the  moral  law  . 


63 
64 

65 
66 
70 

71 
72 

74 
78 
79 


Contents  xi 

BOOK    III 

THEORIES    OF    THE   END 

CHAPTER  I 

THE    END    AS    PLEASURE 

PAGE 

§  37.     Problem  arising  out  of  results  hitherto  reached    .         .  89 
§  38.     What  is  meant  by  saying  that  the  standard  of  moral 

judgment  is  pleasure         .  .  .         .  .  -91 

§  39.     Ancient  forms  of  the  theory          .....  9a* 

§  40.     The  theory  in  modern  times          .....  93 

§  41.     The  sanctions  of  morality    ......  93 

§  42.     Pleasure  and  happiness        ......  96 

§  43.     Do  pleasures  differ  in  quality?       .....  98 

§  44.     How  are  pleasures  calculated  in  respect  to  their  value?  99 

§  45.     Modern  forms  of  the  pleasure  theory    ....  100 

§  46.     Characteristic    difficulties    in    these   several    forms    of 

Hedonism          ........  102 

§  47.     Elements  of  value  in  pleasure  theory    ....  105 

§  48.     Fundamental  error  of  the  theory  based  on  inadequate 

analysis  of  desire      .......  106 

§  49.     Is  pleasure  the  only  motive?     Re-statement  of  Hedon- 
istic argument  ........  108 

§  50.     Met   by   distinction   between  "  pleasure  in  idea "  and 

"idea  of  pleasure"  .         .         .         .         .         .110 


CHAPTER    II 

THE    END    AS     SELF-SACRIFICE 

§51.  Opposite  theory  to  foregoing        .         .         .         .         .112 

§52.  Historical  forms  of  theory    .         .         .         .         .         .113 

§  53.  The  theory  recognises  right  as  distinct  from  expediency     1 14 

§  54.  Value  of  this  view  of  man's  nature  in  the  history  of 

thought 116 

§  55.  Duty  for  duty's  sake  as  a  practical  principle          .         .118 

§  56.  Criticism  of  theory        .          .          .          .         .          .         .120 


xii  Contents 

CHAPTER    III 

EVOLUTIONARY     HEDONISM 

PAGE 

§57.     Utilitarianism  and  evolution  .         .         .         .         -125 

§  58.     The    organic    view    of    human    society    corrects    pre- 
suppositions on  which  Utilitarianism  rests       .         .     127 
§  59.     On   the    Utilitarian   theory   moral  laws    are    empirical 

generalisations  .         .         .  .         .  .  .130 

§  60.     Importance  of  theory  of  evolution  in  the  field  of  ethics     132 
§  61.     Difficulties  in  evolutionary  ethics  ....      136 


BOOK    IV 

THE    END    AS    GOOD 

CHAPTER    I 

THE    END    .\S    COMMON    GOOD 

§  62.  Summary  of  results      .         .         .         .         .         .         -151 

§  63.  Current  distinction  between  self  and  society         .  -152 

§  64.  Relativity  of  this  distinction         .         .         .         .         -153 

§  65.  Further   illustration    of  dependence    of  individual  on 

society       .         .         .         .         .         .         .         .         .158 

§  66.  Ethical  import  of  these  facts         .         .         .         .        ^     159 

§  67.  Appeal  to  moral  judgments  in  support  of  conclusions     162 

§  68.  Duty  to  humanity         .         .         .         .         .         .         .165 

§  69.  Duty  to  God 166 

CHAPTER    II 

FORMS  OF  THE  GOOD 

§  70.     Recapitulation      .         .         .         .         .         .         .         .170 

§  71.     Has  my  argument  been  a  circle?  .         .         .         .172 

§  72.     Virtues  and  institutions         .  .         .  .  .  .175 

§  73.     Requirements  of  classification      .         .         .         .         -177 

§  74.     Limits  of  classification.     The  main  heads  not  mutually 

exclusive   .         .         .         .         .         .         .         .         .180 

§  75.     The  interdependence  of  the  virtues  extends  through  the 

whole  classification    .  .         .         .  .  .         .182 

§  76.     Table  of  virtues   .  .  .         .  .         .  .         .186 


Contents 


Xlll 


§77- 
§78- 
§  79- 
§80. 
§81. 


BOOK    V 

MORAL    PROGRESS 

CHAPTER    I 

THE    STANDARD     AS    RELATIVE 

Differences  of  standard  which  we  may  neglect     . 
Essential  differences  involving  ethical  problem 
The  unity  of  the  form  of  virtue    .         .  .         .  . 

The  relativity  of  the  standard  as  condition  of  its  validity 
Further  difficulty  ....... 


PAGE 

191 

193 
194 
196 
198 


CHAPTER    n 

THE    STANDARD    AS    PROGRESSIVE 

§  82.  Clue  to  solution  of  problem  in  idea  of  progress 

§  83.  Illustration  of  the  general  law  of  progress 

§  84.  Progress  of  humanity  as  a  whole 

§  85.  Moral  progress  in  nations     . 

§  86.  Evolution  of  a  universal  moral  order 

§  87.  Illustration  from  courage 

§  88.  Illustration  from  temperance 

§  89.  Summary      ..... 

§  90.  Further  question 


201 
202 
203 
205 
206 
207 
209 
211 
212 


CHAPTER    III 


THE    STANDARD    AS    IDEAL 

§  91.  The  question  involves  metaphysical  considerations 

§  92.  Consciousness  as  active  principle  in  knowledge 

§  93.  The  unity  of  the  world  as  postulate  of  thought 

§  94.  Conscience  and  consciousness 

§  95.  Relation  of  conscience  to  social  environment 

§  96.  Is  the  ideal  social  or  personal?      . 

§  97.  Evolutionary  account  of  moral  progress 

§  98.  How  this  account  requires  to  be  supplemented 

§  99.  The  Social  Reformer  and  Martyr 

Bibliography     ...... 


215 
216 

2l8 

220 
222 
224 
226 
229 
233 
237 


BOOK    I 

THE  SCIENCE  OF  ETHICS 


CHAPTER   I 

THE    PROBLEM    OF    ETHICS 

§  1.    How  can  there  be  a  Problem  at  all? 

Philosophy,  said  Plato,  begins  in  wonder.  The  child 
who  wonders  why  her  wax  doll  shuts  its  eyes,  or  her 
kitten  wags  its  tail,  has  already  set  forward  on  the  path  that 
leads  to  philosophy  and  science.  The  differences  among 
us  that  distinguish  learned  from  ignorant  depend  merely 
upon  the  extent  to  which  we  have  carried  our  wonder; 
whether  we  are  content  to  acquiesce  in  superficial  answers, 
or  still  find  our  wonder  unsatisfied,  and  press  on  with  a 
new  question  so  soon  as  our  first  is  answered.  Thus, 
astronomy  begins  in  the  wonder  and  perplexity  caused 
by  the  contradictions  and  confusions  of  the  apparent 
movements  of  the  heavens.  The  various  systems  that 
have  succeeded  one  another — the  Ptolemaic,  the  Coper- 
nican,  the  Newtonian — have  differed  only  in  the  relative 
satisfactoriness  of  the  solutions  they  have  offered.  The 
question  I  propose  to  discuss  «t=this- efeapter-  is.  What 
kind  of  wonder  is  that  in  which  Ethics  begins?  To  what 
does  that  wonder  attach?  How  does  it  first  rise?  How 
does  it  express  itself?  The  question  of  the  precise  sub- 
ject-matter of  ethics  is  deferred.  Here  I  would  ask 
why  should  there  be  a  science  of  ethics  at  all,  rather 

3 


4  Ethics  [Bk.  I 

than  what  the  science  of  ethics  is.  It  may,  indeed,  seem 
absurd  to  ask  why  it  should  exist  before  we  know  what  it 
is.  But  in  this  case  the  "  what "  is  a  good  deal  determined 
by  the  "why."  At  the  same  time,  it  must  be  admitted 
that  some  of  the  definitions  and  results,  reached  in  a 
later  part  of  this  treatise,  are  taken  for  granted  in  this 
chapter  and  the  next. 

Etymologies  rarely  help  us  much  in  acquiring  accurate 
conceptions  of  the  present  use  of  words.  They  are  as 
often  as  not  misleading.*  In  the  present  case,  etymology 
will  give  us  considerable  help.  Ethics  is  precisely 
what  its  derivation  (^^c?)  implies,  the  science  of  moral 
character.  We  are,  moreover,  further  helped  if  we  carry 
our  etymology  a  step  further  back,  and  recollect  that  ^^os 
is  connected  with  lQo<i,  custom  or  habit.  Similarly,  if  we 
revert  to  the  older  name  under  which  our  science  was 
known,  viz..  Moral  Philosophy,!  we  find  that  this  means 
the  philosophy  of  Jtiores,  which  signifies  in  Latin, primarily 
customs  or  habits,  secondarily  the  habits  of  moral  agents 
in  respect  to  moral  action,  i.e.,  character.  Assuming, 
then,  that  ethics  is  the  science  of  character,  and  that 
character  means,  according  to  its  etymology,  customs 
or  habits  of  conduct,  j  our  question  is,  How  does  that 
"wonder,"  which  is  the  source  of  all  science,  come  to 
attach  to  national  and  individual  habits  of  conduct? 

*  E.g.,  any  one  who  should  define  Politics,  in  terms  of  its  etymol- 
ogy, as  the  science  of  civil  life,  and  should  go  on  to  argue  that 
politicians  were  those  who  possessed  this  science,  would  clearly 
make  a  great  mistake.  Whately  {Logic,  p.  Ii8)  would  convict  him 
of  the  "  Fallacy  of  Etymology." 

t  Compare  "  Physics  "  and  "  Natural  Philosophy." 
X  "  Character,"  in  our  modern  view,  carries  with  it  greater  in- 
wardness than  this   definition  seems  to  contain.     This  is  quite  in 
conformity  with  the  more  subjective  aspect  which  all  questions  of 


Ch.  I]  The  Problem  of  Ethics  5 

The  very  statement  of  this  question  suggests  a  diffi- 
culty. For  at  first  it  might  appear  as  though  habitual 
actions  were  just  that  part  of  conduct  which  had 
ceased  to  perplex  us  or  cause  us  any  trouble.  All 
habits  can  be  shown  psychologically  to  be  themselves 
the  completed  form  of  answers  to  practical  problems. 
The  habit  of  moving  one's  limbs  in  walking  is  the 
solution  of  the  problem  of  balancing  oneself  first 
on  one  leg  and  then  on  another,  and  executing  a 
forward  movement  at  the  same  time.*  When  it  has 
become  a  habit,  the  solution  is  complete.  We  are  no 
longer  troubled  with  the  problem;  we  are  not  even  con- 
scious that  it  is  one.  Similarly  with  habits  of  conduct 
in  a  nation  or  individual.  The  habit,  for  instance,  of 
self-restraint  in  matters  of  the  body,  which  the  ancients 
called  Temperance,  is  the  solution  of  the  problem  of  the 
relative  claims  to  satisfaction  of  apparently  contradictory 
impulses,  e.g.,  the  impulse  of  a  man  to  go  to  the  public- 
house,  and  the  impulse  to  go  home  to  his  wife.  As  a 
habit,  or  element  of  character,  it  is  that  solution  carried 
to  perfection,  so  that  the  perfectly  temperate  man  is 
no  longer  conscious  of  any  conflict  or  problem  as  he 
passes  the  tavern. 

There  may,  of  course,  still  rise  questions  as  to  the 
details  of  the  conduct  determined  by  the  habit.  Thus 
it  may  remain  for  the  temperate  man  to  decide  how 
much  he  may  drink,  at  what  time,  what  kind  of  liquor, 
and  so  on.     But  these  are  not  ethical  questions  in  the 

ethics  assume  in  modern  discussions  as  compared  with  ancient. 
Here  it  is  immaterial  whether  we  define  character  as  habit  of  con- 
duct or  as  habit  oi  will.     See  below,  p.  52. 

*  That  this  is  an  acquired  art  any  one  can  see  who  watches 
a  baby's  ineffectual  efforts  on  the  nursery  floor. 


6  Ethics  [Bk.  I 

sense  above  referred  to.  They  are  a  matter  of  insight 
in  the  circumstances  of  a  particular  case,  corresponding 
to  the  questions  of  when,  how  far,  and  how  fast  we 
shall  walk.  A  hundred  such  questions  may  rise  in  a 
man's  mind  in  a  day,  without  ever  bringing  him  face 
to  face  with  the  ethical  question  proper.  This  latter 
does  not  refer  primarily  to  the  details  of  an  act  under 
a  habit,  but  to  the  habit  itself.  It  is  not.  What  acts 
are  just,  courageous,  temperate?  but,  What  is  justice, 
courage,  temperance?  And  so  the  difificulty  recurs: 
How  can  habits  of  conduct,  which  are  themselves  solu- 
tions of  practical  problems  in  the  life  of  a  nation  or 
an  individual,  ever  become  the  subject  of  that  doubt 
and  perplexity  from  which  science  springs? 

The  answer  briefly  is,  that  so  long  as  the  solutions  are 
adequate  to  the  existing  circumstances,  i.e.,  so  long  as 
there  is  a  congruity  between  the  habits  of  conduct  of  a 
nation  or  individual  and  the  practical  problems  of  life, 
so  long  the  ethical  question  remains  in  abeyance.  On 
the  other  hand,  it  is  the  appearance  of  new  problems, 
of  which  the  early  habits  offer  no  solution,  that  first 
throws  doubt  upon  the  validity  of  custom.  To  see  how 
this  is,  let  us  consider  the  several  stages  into  which, 
in  this  respect,  the  life  of  progressive  nations  naturally 
falls. 

§  2.    General   Description   of  the   Conditions  under 
which  the  Problem  rises 

For  the  purpose  in  hand  we  might  divide  these  stages 
into  three.  First,  there  is  the  period  of  the  formation 
of  moral  habits  of  a  people,  the  growth  of  its  morality. 
This  corresponds  in  the  individual's  life  to  the  period 
of  childhood  and  early  youth.     It  is  the  period   of  its 


Ch.  1]  The  Problem  of  Ethics  7 

education.*  Next  we  have  the  period  of  action,  corre- 
sponding to  early  manhood.  This  is  the  period  in 
which  a  balance  or  equilibrium  has  been  established 
between  the  various  forces  that  reside  within  the 
nation.  Externally,  this  equilibrium  exhibits  itself  in 
the  harmony  of  classes,  the  "balance  of  the  constitu- 
tion," the  reconciliation  of  interests.  Internally,  it 
means  the  adequacy  of  the  moral  aptitudes  and  habits 
of  the  people,  both  in  force  and  variety,  to  meet  the 
calls  of  its  daily  life.  The  habits,  which  in  the  pre- 
vious stage  were,  so  to  speak,  in  the  gristle,  have  now 
hardened  into  a  system  of  traditional  morality,  the 
maxims  of  which  are  embodied  in  the  received  moral 
code,  and  entrenched  behind  national  institutions  of  State 
and  Church.  I  have  called  this  the  age  of  action, 
because  it  corresponds  generally  to  the  period  of  a 
nation's  best  energies  and  most  brilliant  achievements. 
Civil  discord  is  meantime  at  an  end,  and  the  nation  is 
thus  left  free  to  expand  its  power  abroad. f  Lastly,  we 
have  the  stage  of  reflection.  The  balance  of  internal 
powers,  which  was  the  characteristic  feature  of  the  second 
stage,  is  undermined  by  the  development  of  new  forces. 
Chief  among  these  is  the  intellectual  progress  that  has 
gone  hand  in  hand  with  the  enlargement  of  the  nation's 

*  The  mode  of  this  education — the  evokition  of  moral  habits 
under  the  pressure  of  social  necessity;  the  rise  of  institutions  of 
family,  state,  and  church,  corresponding  to  them;  and  the  embodi- 
ment of  directions  for  their  maintenance  in  moral  and  legal  codes 
— would  require  separate  treatment,  for  which  this  is  clearly  not 
the  place. 

t  As  examples  of  this  stage  might  be  mentioned  the  Jewish 
nation  in  the  time  of  David,  the  Athenians  in  the  age  of  Pericles, 
the  Romans  after  the  establishment  of  internal  peace  by  the  settle- 
ment of  the  long-standing  quarrel  between  patricians  and  plebeians. 


8  Ethics  [Bk.  I 

experience,  as  its  power  extended.  Corresponding  to 
tliis  progress  will  be  the  rise  of  new  interests,  industrial, 
literary,  artistic,  philosophical.  These  have  to  find  a 
place  for  themselves  in  the  national  life.  This  they  can 
usually  only  do  at  the  expense  of  existing  habits,  insti- 
tutions, and  formulas.  The  new  wine  has  to  be  poured 
into  the  old  bottles.  The  spirit  is  contrary  to  the  form. 
A  period  of  intellectual  and  political  ferment  sets  in;  the 
age  is  marked  by  doubt,  perplexity,  and  hesitation;  it  is 
disconcerted  by  the  apparent  baselessness  of  the  forms 
and  institutions  upon  which  society  has  hitherto  seemed 
to  rest;  the  moral  law,  the  fabric  of  the  constitution, 
religion  itself,  seem  shaken  to  their  foundations;  the 
only  choice  seems  to  be  either  to  close  one's  eyes^to  the 
contradictions  of  the  present,  and  seek  refuge  in  the  old 
habits  of  faith,  or  to  set  forward  on  a  new,  untried  path 
of  revolution  and  anarchy. 

But  this  is  an  alternative  which  cannot  fail  to  startle 
and  repel.  To  admit  it  is  to  prove  traitor  to  the  intelli- 
gence which  discerned  the  new  problem,  and  therefore 
in  the  last  resort  to  morality  itself,  which,  as  we  have 
seen,  is  only  another  name  for  the  solution  of  problems 
which  once  were  new.  It  is  at  this  stage  that  recourse 
is  had  to  Ethics,  which  opens  a  third  alternative  between 
simple  acceptance  and  simple  rejection  of  the  morality 
and  institutions  of  the  past.  Ethics  proposes  to  try  to 
understand  them.  It  asks  whence  they  came,  and  what 
they  mean.  It  blinks  no  difficulty  which  the  spirit 
of  scepticism  suggests.  It  ignores  no  claim  which  tra- 
dition puts  forward.  But  it  goes  its  own  way,  regardless 
of  both,  with  a  deeper  doubt  than  scepticism,  because  it 
doubts  the  conclusions  of  scepticism,  and  a  deeper  faith 
than  traditionalism,  because  it  believes  in  the  reason 


Ch.  I J  Tlte  Problem    of  Ethics  9 

which  traditions  embody,   and  which  is  the  source  of 
what  power  they  still  possess. 

§  3.    Historical  Illustration  from  the  Case  of  Greece 

Historically,  the  best  illustration,  both  of  the  decom- 
position of  national  habits  and  traditions,  owing  to  the 
growth  of  national  life,  and  of  the  rise  out  of  this 
decomposition  of  a  rational  system  of  morals  and 
polity,  founded  upon  the  effort  to  understand  current 
forms  and,  by  revealing  both  their  value  and  their 
inadequacy,  to  prepare  the  way  for  progress — is  to 
be  found  in  the  actual  origin  of  the  science  of  ethics 
in  the  age  of  the  Sophists  in  Greece.  This  is  not 
the  place  to  give  any  detailed  account  of  the  state 
of  opinion  out  of  which  the  great  systems  of  Plato  and 
Aristotle  grew.*  It  is  sufficient,  in  illustration  of  what 
has  been  already  said,  to  remind  the  reader  that  the 
Sophists  lived  at  a  time  of  great  political,  industrial,  and 
intellectual  expansion.  Athens,  from  a  small  city  state, 
had  become  the  head  of  a  great  empire.  New  ideas, 
new  interests,  new  demands,  had  produced  a  vague  rest- 
lessness and  dissatisfaction  with  older  forms  of  thought 
and  life.  In  the  hands  of  the  Sophists  the  criticism 
which  was  the  life  and  breath  of  the  time  spread  from 
attacks  on  external  forms  and  abstract  theories  to  the 
ideas  of  right  and  wrong,  justice  and  injustice,  piety  and 
impiety.  By  their  means  a  general  sense  of  the  contra- 
dictions that  were  latent  in  the  traditional  morality  came 
to  pervade  the  educated  classes  in  Athens.  A  condition 
of  doubt,  uncertainty,  and  general  perplexity  was  created, 

*  See  Sidgwick's  History  of  Ethics ;  Grant's  Aristotle,  Vol.  I., 
Essay  ii.;    Erdmann's  History  of  Philosophy,  Vol.  I.,  pp.  69  foil. 


lo  Ethics  [Bk.  I 

out  of  which  in  due  time  rose,  under  the  influence  of 
Socrates,  the  first  sketch  of  a  science  of  morality. 

§  4.    Illustration  from  Our  Own  Time 

But  we  do  not  require  to  go  to  Athens  in  the  time 
of  the  Sophists  to  find  an  illustration  of  the  rise  of  a 
science  of  ethics.  Our  own  time,  resembling  the  age 
just  referred  to  in  many  other  respects,  resembles  it 
in  nothing  more  than  this — that  it  is  a  time  of  moral 
and  political  unrest,  resulting  in  a  new  demand  among 
large  numbers  of  the  educated  classes  to  understand 
the  meaning  of  the  moral  code  under  which  they  live, 
and  the  institutions  that  support  it.  To  mention  only 
a  few  of  the  contradictions  and  seemingly  irreconcil- 
able antitheses  which  criticism  has  made  apparent,  and 
which  harass  and  perplex  our  age,  there  is,  in  the 
first  place,  in  the  field  of  religion,  the  opposition  be- 
tween faith  and  reason,  science  and  religion,  authority 
and  private  judgment.  In  politics  there  is  the  antith- 
esis between  the  individual  and  the  state.  On  the  one 
side  are  asserted  "the  rights  of  rnan,"  on  the  other 
"the  duties  of  citizenship."  "Man  versus  State"*  is 
the  cause  celebre  of  the  century.  Coming  to  more  dis- 
tinctly moral  questions,  we  have  the  conflict  between  self 
and  others,  self-interest  and  the  greatest  happiness  of 
the  greatest  number,  pleasure  and  duty,  freedom  and 
necessity,  law  and  liberty,  and  other  sharp-horned 
dilemmas  that  start  from  the  ground  of  our  common 
life  when  the  light  of  criticism  is  turned  upon  it. 

For  all  these  and  similar  contradictions  no  solution  is 
possible,   except  upon  condition   of    a  thorough-going 

*  See  Mr.  Spencer's  booklet  with  this  title. 


Ch.  IJ  The  Problem  of  Ethics  1 1 

analysis  of  the  basis  of  individual  and  social  morality, 
the  origin,  the  meaning,  the  authority  of  the  moral  habits 
of  civilised  man,  and  the  social,  political,  and  religious 
institutions  in  which  they  have  entrenched  themselves. 
It  is  under  pressure  of  these  and  kindred  difficulties  that 
the  science  of  ethics  has  taken  a  new  start  in  our  own 
time.  It  is  indeed  true  that  ethics  has  always  been  more 
or  less  studied  in  modern  times  as  a  department  of 
philosophy.  Under  its  older  name  of  moral  philosophy 
it  has  always  had  an  honoured  place  in  systems  of  meta- 
physics. What  is  characteristic  of  our  time  in  this  regard 
is  not  the  rise  of  a  new  study,  but  the  new  significance 
that  has  come  to  attach  to  an  old  one.  The  practical 
importance  of  the  science  of  ethics,  as  offering  valuable 
aid  towards  the  solution  of  problems  that  vex  our  daily 
life,  has  come  to  be  more  fully  recognised.  Among 
other  evidences  of  this  recognition  may  be  mentioned 
the  rise  of  societies  to  promote  its  study,*  the  institu- 
tion of  the  I  titer  national  Journal  of  Ethics,  and  gener- 
ally the  place  that  is  now  claimed  for  it  as  no  longer 
a  subordinate  branch  of  philosophy,  but  an  independ- 
ent science. t  The  validity  of  this  latter  claim  I  shall 
have  occasion  hereafter  to  examine. |  Meantime  it  may 
be  noted  as  an  illustration  of  the  new  importance  attach- 
ing to  the  study  that  attempts  have  been  made  to  detach 
it  from  the  cumbrous  adjuncts  of  logic  and  meta- 
physics, and  to  present  it  as  a  science  in  no  respect 

*  There  are  Ethical  Societies  in  London,  Cambridge,  Edinburgh, 
New  York,  Philadelphia,  Chicago,  and  elsewhere,  all  of  recent 
growth. 

t  On  the  general  question  of  the  liissolution  of  the  ancient  partner- 
ship between  philosophy  and  its  various  branches,  see  the  excellent 
article  by  James  Ward,  Mind,  Vol.  XV.,  No.  58. 

X  See  pp.  28  foil. 


12  Ethics  [Bk.  I 

differing,  save  in  the  complexity  of  its  subject-matter 
and  the  practical  importance  of  its  conclusions,  from 
other  empirical  sciences.* 


§  5.    Effect  of  the  Study  of  Ethics  on  our  General 
View  of  Life 

If  now,  reverting  to  our  definition  of  ethics  as  the 
science  of  moral  habits,  the  reader  ask  what  we  may 
expect  to  be  the  general  effect  of  such  an  investigation 
on  our  general  view  of  the  nature  and  authority  of  these 
habits,  I  answer  that  that  effect  will  be  twofold.  First, 
it  will  necessarily  be  partly  destructive.  This  is  implied 
in  saying  that  science  is  critical.  It  criticises,  corrects, 
supplements,  and  classifies  the  distinctions  of  common- 
sense.  All  science  does  this:  it  is  a  criticism  of 
common-sense.  Ethical  science  will  be  found  to  do  so 
specifically.  Some  familiar  distinctions,  some  effe.te 
prohibitions  and  injunctions,  some  crude  notions  of  the 
nature  of  moral  authority  and  moral  sanctions,  will  have 
to  be  given  up.  For  moral  law,  like  statute  law,  grows  by 
constant  alteration  and  accretion.  As  these  alterations 
and  accretions  take  place  more  or  less  unconsciously, 
little  care  is  taken  to  revise  and  readjust  what  went 
before.  And  just  as  many  contradictory  laws,  passed  at 
various  times,  without  reference  to  one  another,  may 
remain  on  the  statute  book,  so  the  moral  code  of  any 
period  may  contain  many  elements  loosely  compacted 
and  imperfectly  reconciled  with  one  another.  The 
result  of  the  application  of  scientific  criticism  to  these 
will  be  like  the  revisal  and  codification  of  statute  law. 

*  See  Leslie  Stephen's  Science  of  Ethics,  pp.  6,  7.  Also  S. 
Alexander's  Moral  Order  and  Progress,  p.  80. 


Ch.  I]  The  Pi'obktn  of  Ethics  13 

Similarly,  in  reference  to  the  social  institutions  that 
support  the  moral  law,  we  may  expect  that  our  results  will 
have  a  negative  and  critical  side.  These  also,  like  the 
moral  code,  are  an  unconscious  growth.  Like  the  organs 
of  animal  life,  they  were  evolved  in  response  to  vital 
needs.  Yet,  as  there  are  survivals  and  rudimentary 
organs  among  the  parts  of  animals,  so  in  a  community 
forms  and  institutions  may  survive  from  a  former  state  of 
life.  One  of  the  first  results  of  ethical  science  will  be 
the  perception  of  this  fact. 

Lastly,  with  regard  to  the  authority  on  which  the  moral 
law  is  based,  we  may  expect,  in  the  first  instance,  a  crit- 
ical and  apparently  negative  result.  As  man's  notions 
of  this  authority  were  formed  in  the  ages  of  poetry  and 
mythology,  we  may  expect  the  ordinary  notions  about 
it  to  be  tinged  with  the  colour  of  their  origin.  It  is  a 
necessary  part  of  the  work  of  science  to  criticise  them. 
In  all  these  respects,  science  "  is  nothing  if  it  is  not 
critical." 

On  the  other  hand,  ethics  has  a  positive  and  recon- 
structive side.  To  explain  is  not  to  explain  away, 
neither  is  to  explain  away  to  explain.  Its  starting- 
point  is  the  reality  of  duty  and  right.  If  in  its  first  role 
as  critical  it  seems  to  be  attacking  these,  this  is  only  the 
superficial  aspect  of  its  work.*  In  its  deeper  aspect  it 
is  reconstructive.  It  comes,  not  to  destroy,  but  to  fulfil. 
It  does  so  by  separating  the  essential  from  the  unessential, 
the  permanent  from  the  transient,  the  spirit  from  the 
form  of  moral  and  social  institutions.  By  leaving  only 
those   which   are   organically    connected    with    human 

*  In  all  scientific  education  there  is  a  stage  in  which  destruction 
seems  to  be  the  chief  work  of  science.  Plato  calls  it  the  "  puppy 
dog"  stage. 


14  Ethics  [Bk.  1 

nature  and  with  one  another,  it  gives  them  a  value  and 
a  sanctity  which,  as  merely  traditional  forms,  they  never 
could  possess.  Ethics  is  thus  a  criticism  which  makes 
reconstruction  possible:  it  strips  off  the  irrelevant  and 
the  unessential,  in  order  to  get  a  firmer  hold  of  the 
essential.  Here  and  there  it  presents  us  with  a  bold 
negative,  but,  when  it  does  so,  this  is  found  only  to  be 
"the  cutting  edge  of  a  positive." 


Ch.  11]  Can  there  be  a  Science  of  Ethics  ?  15 


CHAPTER   II 

CAN  THERE  BE  A  SCIENCE  OF  ETHICS? 

§  6.    Difficulty  in  the  Conception  of  such  a  Science 

In  the  preceding  chapter  a  sketch  has  been  given  of  the 
circumstances  in  which  the  practical  need  for  a  science  of 
ethics  arises,  the  general  nature  of  its  problem,  and  the 
kind  of  answer  to  it  that  may  be  expected.  We  have  now 
to  seek  for  a  convenient  starting-point  in  developing  the 
science  itself.  But  before  we  do  so  several  preliminary 
difficulties  that  rise  in  connection  with  the  very  idea  of  a 
science  of  this  kind  require  to  be  noticed. 

Accepting  the  general  definition  (given  on  p.  4)  of 
ethics  as  the  science  of  character  or  conduct,  in  what 
sense,  we  may  ask,  can  we  speak  of  such  a  science? 
Science,  it  is  said,  has  for  its  subject-matter  necessary 
truths.  It  traces  effects  to  their  causes,  formulates 
general  laws  as  to  the  way  in  which  these  causes  act,  and 
from  these  generalisations,  or  the  combinations  of  them, 
proceeds  to  deduce  new  consequences.  The  last  of 
these  processes  is  especially  distinctive  of  a  science. 
No  science  is  considered  complete  until  it  is  shown 
to  be  possible  to  predict  particular  effects  from  the 
known  laws  of  their  causes.  According  to  this  idea  of 
a  science,  it  becomes  at  once  evident  that,  in  assuming 


1 6  Ethics  [Bk.  II 

the  possibility  of  a  science  of  character  and  conduct,  we 
assume  that  these  phenomena  are  the  effects  of  certain 
definable  causes,  that  it  is  possible  to  formulate  general 
laws  of  their  origin  and  course  of  development,  and  that 
when  the  science  is  perfected  we  shall  be  able  to  make 
confident  predictions  regarding  them  on  the  ground  of 
our  previous  generalisations.  Thus  at  the  very  outset  we 
seem  to  make  certain  assumptions  as  to  the  nature  of 
human  character  and  conduct,  the  discussion  of  which 
has  always  been  one  of  the  chief  subjects  of  moral 
philosophy.  For  is  it  not  contended  by  a  large  and 
powerful  school  of  writers  that  "character  and  conduct 
are  precisely  that  which  cannot  be  explained  as  the 
resultant  of  discernible  and  calculable  forces?  They 
are  chiefly  dependent  upon  the  human  will,  and  we  have 
no  right  at  the  outset  of  our  investigation  to  make  an 
assumption  which  prejudges  the  question  as  to  the  free- 
dom of  volition.  If  the  will  is  free,  the  whole  concep- 
tion of  a  science  of  ethics  falls  to  the  ground:  there 
is  a  variable  and  incalculable  element  in  character  and 
conduct  which  vitiates  all  its  results." 

This  objection  is,  however,  based  upon  a  miscon- 
ception of  the  nature  of  the  science.  It  is  indeed 
possible  to  treat  human  conduct  as  a  natural  phenom- 
enon on  the  same  plane  as  other  physical  events,  such 
as  the  motions  of  the  planets,  or  the  evolution  of  species. 
The  aim  of  the  science  upon  this  supposition  will  be 
to  formulate  general  laws  of  the  action  of  human 
agents  in  specific  circumstances,  and  thence  deduce 
the  course  it  will  take  in  nations  and  individuals  upon 
the  recurrence  of  the  same  conditions.  A  science  of 
this  kind,  difficult  as  it  might  prove  to  be  to  work 
it  out  in  detail,   is  at  least  conceivable,  and  it  would 


Ch.  II]  Can  there  be  a  Science  of  Ethics  ?  17 

certainly  proceed  upon  the  assumption  that  the  freedom 
of  the  will  is  a  delusion,  or  at  any  rate  may  be  neglected 
for  purposes  of  the  science.  But  such  a  science  would 
have  little  or  nothing  to  do  with  ethics.  Ethics  is  not 
primarily  concerned  with  conduct  as  a  fact  in  space  and 
time, — something  done  here  and  now,  following  from 
certain  causes  in  the  past,  and  succeeded  by  certain 
results  in  the  future.  It  is  concerned  with  X\\q  Judgment 
upon  conduct,  the  judgment  that  such  and  such  conduct  is 
right  or  wrong.  The  distinction  is  important,  and  may  be 
made  the  basis  of  a  general  classification  of  the  sciences. 
On  the  one  hand,  we  have  those  sciences  which  are  con- 
cerned with  facts  or  phenomena  of  nature  or  of  mind, 
actual  occurrences  which  have  to  be  analysed,  classified, 
and  explained.  The  movement  of  the  earth  round  the 
sun  is  such  a  fact.  Astronomy  may  be  taken  as  the  type 
of  this  class  of  sciences.  On  the  other  hand,  there  are 
those  sciences  which  have  to  do  primarily,  not  with  facts 
in  space  and  time,  but  with  judgments  about  those  facts. 
It  might  be  said,  indeed,  that  all  facts  present  themselves 
to  us  as  judgments.  "The  earth  moves  round  the  sun" 
is  a  fact,  but  it  is  also  a  judgment.  There  is  a  distinction, 
however  (to  go  no  deeper),  between  a  judgment  ^fact 
and  a  judgment  upon  fact,  corresponding  to  the  distinc- 
tion between  "judgment"  in  its  logical  sense  of  "proposi- 
tion "  and  "  judgment "  in  its  judicial  sense  of  "  sentence." 
It  is  with  judgment  in  the  latter  sense  that  ethics  has  to 
do.  It  deals  with  conduct  as  the  subject  of  judicial  judg- 
ment, not  with  conduct  merely  as  a  physical  fact.  Simi- 
larly it  might  be  argued  that  all  judgments  are  facts,  and 
that  a  moral  judgment  only  differs  from  other  facts  in 
being  more  complicated.  This  of  course  is  true,  but  one 
of  the  chief  elements  in  this  complication  is  the  refer- 


1 8  Ethics  [Bk.  I 

ence  to  a  standard,  and  it  is  this  element  to  which  I  wish 
to  call  attention  as  distinctive  of  the  fact  with  which 
our  science  has  to  deal.  On  the  ground  of  it  ethics  has 
to  be  classed  with  what  have  been  called  "normative" 
sciences,  to  which  Logic,  or  the  science  of  the  judgment 
of  truth  or  falsity,  and  .-Esthetics,  or  the  science  of  the 
judgment  of  beauty  or  ugliness,  belong.  Ethics  has  to  do 
with  the  norm,  or  standard  of  right  and  wrong,  as  logic 
has  to  do  with  the  standard  of  truth,  aesthetics  with  the 
standard  of  beauty.  It  is  concerned  primarily  with  the 
laws  that  regulate  our  judgments  of  right  and  wrong,  only 
secondarily  with  the  laws  that  regulate  conduct  as  an 
event  in  time. 


§  7.    Practical  Difficulty  in  the  Conception  of  a 
Science  of  Conduct 

There  is  a  second  objection  that  may  be  taken  to 
such  a  science  from  the  practical  side.  It  has  been 
said  that  ethics  is  the  science  of  the  laws  which  regulate 
our  judgments  of  right  and  wrong.  But  how  then,  it 
may  be  asked,  does  it  come  about  that  the  great  mass 
of  people  who  are  perfectly  innocent  of  such  a  science, 
yet  confidently  pass  such  judgments  on  themselves  and 
others?  It  is  these  judgments  of  ordinary  people,  more- 
over, from  which  presumably  the  science  of  ethics  pro- 
poses to  start,  and  it  is  these  it  proposes  to  investigate. 
But  what  hope  can  there  be  of  finding  any  law  or  reason 
embodied  in  popular  judgments,  obviously  arrived  at 
without  any  relation  to  laws  of  judgment  previously 
known  and  acted  upon  ? 

The  answer  to  this  difficulty  has  already  been  given 
in  the  previous  chapter.     The  objection  springs  from  the 


Ch.  II]  Can  there  be  a  Science  of  Ethics  ?  19 

failure  to  distinguish  between  an  unconsciously  acquired 
art,  and  the  science  which  analyses  the  principles  which 
underlie  it.  Just  as  the  art  of  speaking  or  of  reasoning 
may  be  acquired  by  those  who  have  never  seen  or  heard 
of  a  book  on  grammar  or  logic,  so  the  art  of  moral 
judgment  and  moral  conduct  may  be  acquired  by  the 
unconscious  processes  described  above  (p.  5)  before  a 
science  of  ethics  is  even  dreamt  of.  How  far  the 
science  of  conduct  will  react  upon  the  art,  what  influence 
ethics  has  on  morality,  is  another  question.  The  kind 
of  answer  that  may  be  expected  to  be  given  to  it  has 
already  been  alluded  to  (pp.  12  foil.).  In  the  present 
section  I  desire  merely  to  emphasise  a  distinction 
which,  though  so  obvious  when  stated,  is  obscured  in 
current  language. 

§  8.    What  may  be  Expected  of  a  Science  of  Ethics? 

If  we  now  come  closer  to  the  question  of  the  present 
chapter,  and  ask  in  what  sense  there  can  be  said  to  be 
a  science  of  moral  judgment,  we  open  up  a  still  more 
serious  difficulty.  Although  the  full  import  of  our 
answer  can  only  be  apprehended  after  the  claim  that 
is  now  to  be  made  on  behalf  of  ethics  has  been  justified 
by  the  detailed  exposition  of  the  theory  itself,  still  it 
may  be  permissible  to  state  here  generally  what  we  may 
expect  as  the  result  of  the  present  inquiry. 

Before  attempting  to  do  so,  it  is  necessary,  however, 
to  define  more  clearly  than  we  have  yet  done  what 
a  science  in  the  strict  sense  is,  and  what  we  require 
that  it  should  do  for  us.  Let  us  take  astronomy 
as  our  type,  and  ask.  Wherein  does  the  scientific  differ 
from  the  ordinary  way  of  looking  at  things?  In 
the  first  place,    it  observes    accurately.      In    astronomy 


20  Ethics  [Bk.  I 

every  one  knows  that  the  heavenly  bodies  change  their 
position  with  reference  to  the  earth  and  one  another. 
Science  demands,  in  the  first  place,  accurate  observ^ations 
and  descriptions  of  these  changes.  Secondly,  science 
distinguishes  different  kinds  of  the  phenomena  thus 
ob5er\'ed,  and  classifies  them  according  to  their  most 
significant  differences.  It  will,  for  instance,  in  astronomy 
very  soon  arrive  at  the  distinction  between  our  own  sun 
and  planetary  system,  and  more  distant  suns.  Within 
this  it  will  distinguish  moons  from  planets,  planets  that 
have  cooled  sufficiently  to  permit  of  life  upon  their 
surface  from  those  that  have  not,  and  so  on.  But  if  its 
functions  ended  here,  it  would  hardly  merit  the  name  of 
a  science  at  all.  It  must  not  only  accurately  observe 
and  classify :  it  must  explain.  Without  entering  into 
any  detailed  discussion  of  what  is  meant  by  "explana- 
tion," which  is  a  question  for  logic,  not  for  ethics,  I  may 
define  shortly  what  I  wish  the  reader  to  understand  by 
this  term.  To  explain  a  phenomenon  or  occurrence,  in 
the  proper  sense  of  the  term,  it  is  not  sufficient,  as  popular 
language  implies,  to  find  the  cause  or  agency  which  pro- 
duced it.  Even  the  account  given  by  the  older  books 
on  logic,  which  define  explanation  as  the  process  of 
finding  a  more  general  law,  or  more  general  laws,  under 
which  the  occurrence  may  be  subsumed,  is  inadequate.* 
Explanation  includes  this,  but  is  not  exhausted  by  it. 
A  thing  can  only  properly  be  said  to  be  explained  when 
it  is  seen  necessarily  to  flow  from  the  sum  of  the  con- 
ditions which  the  science  in  question  takes  into  account. 
But  these  conditions,  when  accurately  apprehended,  are 
never    merely  a    series  of    successive    phenomena,   but 

*  For   this  kind  of  explanation  in  its  three   forms,  see   Mill's 
Logic,  Book  III.,  ch.  xii.;   Bain's  Inductive  Logic,  Book  III.,  ch.  xii. 


Ch.  II]  Can  there  he  a  Science  of  Etliics  ?  21 

the  relations  of  the  parts  or  members  of  an  organic 
system  to  one  another,  hence  we  may  substitute  for 
this  definition  a  still  more  accurate  one,  and  say  that  a 
phenomenon  is  only  fully  explained  when  enough  is 
known  of  the  particular  system  in  question  to  permit  us 
to  apprehend  the  phenomenon  in  the  light  of  the  known 
relations  of  the  other  parts,  and  therefore  as  a  coherent 
member  of  the  whole.  Thus,  to  take  a  simple  instance, 
the  phenomenon  of  the  dawn  is  explained  in  the  sense 
described  when  we  see  it  to  be  the  necessary  result  of 
the  sum  of  conditions  which  we  know  as  the  planetary 
system;  in  other  words,  when  we  know  enough  of  the 
mutual  relations  of  the  various  members  of  the  planetary 
system,  and  the  laws  of  their  motions,  to  see  that  these 
involve  the  turning  of  our  part  of  the  earth  to  the  light 
of  the  sun  at  a  particular  moment  in  the  manner  we  call 
the  sunrise.* 

By  this  third  stage,  therefore,  in  the  scientific  account 
of  any  phenomenon,  we  mean  the  process  by  which 
it  is  shown  to  be  a  coherent  part  of  a  system  or  organ- 
ism. It  is  shown  to  be  "required"  by  the  conditions 
previously  known  to  prevail  in  a  particular  field  or 
group  of  facts.  As  so  explained,  it  is  seen  to  be  neces- 
sarily involved  in  these  conditions  so  soon  as  we  realise 
what  they  mean;  in  other  words,  to  be  a  necessary 
truth.  Of  course  the  particular  group  is  itself  related 
to  other  groups,  and  ultimately  to  the  whole  system  of 
known    reality;    so   that    the    complete    explanation   of 

*  A  simple  example  of  this  process  of  explanation  would  be  the 
adjustment  of  a  piece  in  a  child's  picture  puzzle.  The  "  explanation  " 
of  its  apparently  strange  shape  and  jumble  of  coloured  surface  is 
only  found  when  its  place  has  been  assigned  to  it  in  the  organic 
structure  of  the  whole. 


2  2  Ethics  [Bk.  I 

any  fact  requires  that  we  should  see  it  to  be  neces- 
sarily involved  in  the  constitution  of  the  cosmos  as 
a  whole.  Science  however,  qua  Science,  contents  itself 
with  the  perceived  necessity  of  its  data  relatively  to  a 
limited  sphere,  e.g.,  spatial,  mechanical,  or  chemical  rela- 
tions. On  the  other  hand,  the  ultimate  relations  of  these 
spheres  to  one  another,  and  to  reality  as  a  whole,  is  the 
point  of  view  distinctive  of  Philosophy,  the  difference 
being  that  Science,  as  such,  is  content  with  the  relatively 
complete  explanation  which  consists  in  showing  particular 
phenomena  to  flow  necessarily  from  a  particular  group  of 
organic  relations,  as  in  astronomy  or  biology;  Philosophy 
requires  us  to  see  the  same  fact  in  organic  relation  to  the 
world  as  a  whole. 

Returning  from  this  digression,  we  are  now  in  a  posi- 
tion to  understand  what  is  meant  by  the  statement  that 
ethics  is  a  science.  It  is  so,  not  merely  in  the  sense  that 
it  observes  and  classifies  its  data,  as  in  the  current  tables 
of  the  different  forms  of  moral  judgment  known  as  duties; 
it  also  aims  at  explaining  them.  Its  function  is  to  exhibit 
these  forms  as  necessarily  flowing  from  the  known  con- 
ditions of  the  individual  and  social  life  of  man.  To  the 
unreflective,  moral  judgments  appear  to  be  somewhat 
isolated  phenomena,  without  relation  to  one  another  or 
to  other  facts  of  experience.  Upon  the  field  of  other- 
wise strictly  correlated  and  comprehensible  facts  and 
events,  there  appears  to  be  intruded  an  arbitrary  pro- 
nouncement of  condemnation  or  approval.  It  is  the 
work  of  ethics,  on  the  other  hand,  to  bring  these 
.judgments  into  organic  relation  with  one  another  and 
with  the  known  facts  of  experience;  to  strip  them  of 
their  apparent  arbitrariness,  and  clothe  them  with  the 
livery   of    reason,    by   showing   them    to  be    necessary 


Ch.  II]  Can  there  be  a  Science  of  Ethics?  23 

postulates  of  that  organism  of  relations  which  we  know 
as  human  society. 

§  9.    Comparison  of  Ethics  as  so  interpreted,  with 
Intuitionist  and  Theological  Ethics 

The  nature  and  extent  of  this  claim  will  be  more 
obvious  if  we  contrast  it  shortly  with  two  other  views 
that  have  been  held  as  to  the  nature  and  limits  of 
ethical  investigation.  Attempts  have  been  made  to 
limit  the  scope  of  the  science  to  the  description  and 
classification  of  the  utterances  of  what  is  called  Moral 
Sense.  The  only  ultimate  account  which  we  can  give, 
it  is  said,  of  those  pronouncements  as  to  right  and 
wrong,  which  we  call  moral  judgments,  is  that  in  the 
presence  of  certain  conditions  {e.g.,  one's  neighbour's 
purse  and  a  desire  for  money)  moral  sense  pronounces 
certain  judgments  {e.g.,  that  it  is  wrong  to  take  what  is 
not  one's  own).  Ethics  has  to  do  with  the  description 
and  classification  of  these  judgments.  It  cannot  further 
explain  them.  They  rest  upon  an  innate  feeling  or 
instinct  that  defies  further  analysis.  As  against  this  view 
we  should,  of  course,  admit  the  existence  of  what  is 
called  moral  sense  or  feeling, — the  consideration  of  which 
is  an  important  part  of  ethics, — but  we  should  refuse  to 
regard  it  as  the  unanalysable  utterance  of  a  special 
faculty.  It  has  an  origin,  a  history,  and  a  place  among 
the  other  data  of  the  moral  life  which  it  is  the  function 
of  ethics  to  unfold.  Similarly,  its  dicta  (though  it  is  not 
at  all  clear  how  a  "sense  "  can  speak  as  well  as  feel)  are 
not  isolated  utterances  (as  such  they  would  be  wholly 
unintelligible),  but  derive  what  significance  they  have 
from  their  relation  to  an  objective  system  of  mutually 
related  parts  or  elements. 


24    _•  Ethics  [Bk.  I 

Another  view  traces  the  moral  judgments  or  decrees 
which  are  the  subject-matter  of  ethics  back  to  the  will 
of  an  external  authority.  They  are  communicated  to 
man  partly  through  conscience,  partly  through  revelation, 
but  in  both  cases  are  in  the  last  resort  to  be  explained 
by  a  direct  reference  to  this  Supreme  Will,  not  to  human 
life  and  experience  as  such.  It  is  not  necessary  to  enter 
on  disputed  points  of  theology  to  see  that,  whatever  the 
connection  between  morality  and  religion  (and  it  is  a 
very  close  one)  may  be,  this  view  amounts  either  to  a 
denial  of  any  science  of  ethics  in  the  proper  sense  of 
the  word,  or  to  the  logical  fallacy  of  petitio  principii. 
If  it  be  meant  that  no  account  can  be  given  of  the 
good  and  the  right,  except  that  they  are  the  will  of 
God,  there  is  an  end  to  all  inquiry.  We  may  be  told 
by  conscience  and  revelation  what  is  right,  but  to  the 
question  of  science,  Wliy  is  it  right?  why  am  I  bound 
to  accept  this  authority?  there  is  no  answer.  If,  on 
the  other  hand,  it  be  meant  merely  that  the  good 
and  the  right  become  known  to  us  through  the  direct 
action  of  another  will  upon  our  minds  and  consciences, 
i.e.,  that  we  know  that  this  is  right,  that  wrong,  because 
God  tells  us,  the  truth  of  this  account  will  be  a  question 
for  theology  and  metaphysics;  but,  true  or  false,  it  does 
not  help  us  to  the  solution  of  the  ethical  question.  We 
are  still  left  to  ask,  Why  is  it  right?  Is  it  right  because 
God  wills  it,  or  does  God  will  it  because  it  is  right?  In 
the  former  case  we  are  back  at  the  denial  of  the  possi- 
bility of  any  science  of  ethics;  in  the  latter  case  we 
are  still  at  the  beginning  of  our  investigation,  and  our 
explanation  of  the  judgment  of  right  is  still  to  seek. 

I  claim  then  for  ethics  that  it  is  a  science  in  the  same 
sense  as  any  one  of  the  j^hysical  or  material  sciences.     It 


Ch.  II]  Can  there  be  a  Science  of  Ethics  ?  25 

aims  at  explaining  moral  judgments,  as  astronomy  aims 
at  explaining  the  motions  of  the  planets,  or  geometry 
the  properties  of  figures,  by  showing  their  place  in  a 
system  which  cannot  exist  as  a  consistent  whole  (or, 
in  other  words,  cannot  be  recognised  by  reason  as 
existing  at  all)  without  them.  Thus,  to  anticipate,  the 
judgment  that  theft  is  wrong  is  not  explained  by 
merely  referring  it  to  a  moral  sense  or  feeling,  or  to  the 
decree  of  a  Divine  will,  but  by  showing  that  disregard 
for  other  people's  property  is  inconsistent  with  that 
system  of  mutual  relations  which  we  call  social  life. 


26  Ethics 


[Bk.  I 


CHAPTER  III 

SCOPE    OF    THE    SCIENCE    OF    ETHICS 

§  10.      In  what  sense  Ethics  differs  from  the  Natural 
Sciences 

Having  indicated  in  what  sense  ethics  may  be  said  to 
resemble  other  sciences,  it  remains  for  me  further  to 
define  its  general  character  by  pointing  out  in  what 
respects  it  differs  from  them.  It  differs  from  all  the 
natural  sciences  in  that : — 

(i)  //  is  regulative.  Ethics  deals  with  a  rule  or 
standard  of  judgment,  not  with  physical  events  and  the 
causes  which  determine  them.  This  has  been  already 
explained,  and  need  not  now  detain  us.  It  involves, 
however,  a  further  distinction  which  it  is  of  the  utmost 
importance  to  note. 

(2)  //  treats  7?taft  as  conscious.  Seeing  that  ethics  deals 
with  judgments  consciously  passed  by  man  upon  himself 
and  others,  it  rests  upon  the  assumption  that  man  is 
not  merely  a  part  of  nature  and  the  blind  servant  of  her 
purposes,  but  is  cotiscious  of  being  a  part,  and  of  being 
subject  to  her  laws.  He  not  only  behaves  in  a  certain 
way  in  presence  of  particular  circumstances,  as  oxygen 
may  be  said  to  "behave  "  in  the  presence  of  hydrogen, 
but  he  is  conscious  of  his  behaviour  in  its  relation  to 


Ch.  Ill]  Scope  of  the  Science  of  Ethics  27 

himself  and  others.  It  is  on  the  ground  of  this  con- 
sciousness that  he  passes  judgment  upon  it.  Hence 
any  attempt  to  treat  the  science  of  human  conduct  and 
character  as  merely  a  branch  of  material  science  is 
doomed  to  failure.  The  "explanations"  in  the  field  of 
ethics  cannot  be  in  terms  of  the  laws  and  hypotheses 
that  are  applicable  in  the  field  of  physical  science.  The 
laws  of  motion  or  the  principle  of  the  conservation 
of  force  are  here  out'  of  court.  It  is  true  that  human 
conduct  may  be  described  as  a  mode  or  form  of  energy, 
but  the  important  thing  is  the  "form," — it  is  conscious 
energy,  and  that  makes  all  the  difference.  Nothing  has 
created  more  confusion  in  the  history  of  science  than 
the  attempt  to  take  principles  which  successfully  explain 
phenomena  in  one  field  and  apply  them  to  those  of 
another  to  which  they  are  inapplicable.  It  was  thus 
that  the  Pythagoreans  thought  that  the  laws  of  abstract 
number  were  adequate  to  explain  the  concrete  facts  of 
the  physical  world;  the  atomists  that  the  hypothesis  of 
indestructible,  material  atoms,  was  sufficient  to  explain 
all  phenomena  of  life  and  thought.  And  though  we 
have  given  over  these  attempts  in  their  cruder  forms, 
yet  we  are  still  liable,  in  our  enthusiasm  for  a  prin- 
ciple which. we  have  victoriously  applied  in  one  field, 
to  overlook  fundamental  distinctions  of  subject-matter, 
and  apply  it  in  a  field  where  it  is  either  altogether  ir- 
relevant or  only  relatively  valid.*  We  are  in  continual 
danger  of  forgetting  that  the  world  does  not  consist  of 
groups  of  facts  all  upon  the  same  plane  and  explicable  by 

*  As  a  prominent  instance  of  tiiis  mistake  at  the  present  time 
we  might  take  the  tendency  to  apply  the  law  of  natural  selection, 
as  it  is  observed  to  operate  in  unconscious  nature  and  among  the 
lower  animals,  to  the  life   of  man  as  a  conscious    and   intelligent 


28  Ethics  [Bk.  I 

the  same  axioms  and  definitions,  but  disposes  them  in 
an  ascending  series  resembling  rather  a  spiral  column, 
from  each  new  round  of  which  we  view  the  facts  that 
lie  before  us  from  a  higher  plane  and  at  a  different 
angle.  In  regard  to  ethics  we  may  here  so  far  anticipate 
as  to  state  the  view,  hereafter  to  be  proved,  that  it  differs 
from  the  sciences  that  stand  next  below  it,  viz.,  biology 
and  natural  history,  in  that  while  these  treat  man  as 
organically  related  to  his  environment  in  nature  and 
society,  ethics  treats  of  him  as.  conscious  of  that 
relation. 

(3)  //  is  more  closely  related  to  philosophy.  Another 
distinction  is  important.  It  flows  naturally  from  the 
two  already  mentioned.  It  has  already  been  observed 
(p.  22)  that  the  explanations  of  particular  sciences  are, 
after  all,  relative.  No  fact  or  phenomenon  is  fully 
explained  till  its  relations  to  all  the  world  beside  are 
clearly  known  and  defined.  But  all  the  world  beside, 
or  the  whole  system  of  things,  is  not  the  subject-matter 
of  any  particular  science.  So  far  as  it  can  be  made 
a  subject  of  investigation  at  all,  it  is  the  subject  of 
philosophy  or  metaphysics,  the  science  of  sciences.* 
But  while  philosophy  alone  deals  with  complete  or  final 
explanations,  yet  relatively,  and  in  th^sir  own  field,  the 
explanations  of  the  particular  sciences  are  regarded  as 
valid.     It  might  be  said,   for  instance,  that  the  truth 

member  of  a  social  system.  Even  Mr.  Spencer  is  not  altogether 
fiee  from  this  error.  A  great  deal  of  the  antagonism  to  the  scientitic 
treatment  of  the  moral  life  is  probably  due  to  attempts  to  explain  its 
phjnoniena  upon  inadequate  principles. 

*  Which,  however,  ought  not  to  be  thought  of  as  opposed  to  the 
sciences,  but  only  as  "  an  unusually  obstinate  effort  to  think  clearly  " 
on  their  subject-matter. 


Ch.  Ill]  Scope  of  the  Science  of  Ethics  29 

of  the  fifth  proposition  of  the  first  book  of  Euclid 
is  independent  of  the  conclusions  of  philosophy  as  to 
the  nature  and  reality  of  space,  and  no  one  would 
think  it  worth  while  seriously  to  question  the  state- 
ment that  mathematics  is  independent  of  metaphysics. 
But  the  question  may  be  and  has  been  put  with  reference 
to  ethics,  Is  it  in  like  manner  independent  of  philosophy  ? 
The  older  thinkers  apparently  were  of  opinion  that  it 
was  not,  as  it  was  commonly  spoken  of  as  moral  philos- 
ophy. Modern  nomenclature  and  methods  of  treating 
it  have  emphasised  its  independence.  Recent  writers 
even  go  out  of  their  way  to  disown  all  connection  between 
ethics  and  metaphysics.  But  besides  the  general  con- 
nection which  there  is  between  all  the  sciences  which 
deal  with  some  particular  aspect  of  the  world  {e.g.,  mathe- 
matics, which  deals  with  space;  dynamics,  which  deals 
with  bodies  in  motion)  and  philosophy  or  metaphysics, 
which  deals  with  the  nature  and  reality  of  the  world  as  a 
whole,  there  is  in  the  case  of  ethics  a  more  particular 
connection.  This  is  manifest  whether  we  take  the  point 
of  view  of  the  first  or  of  the  second  of  the  distinctions 
already  mentioned. 

For  {a)  its  judgments  are  thought  to  be  absolute. 
Ethics,  we  have  seen,  has  to  do  with  moral  judgments, 
and  these  judgments  are  judgments  of  value — the  value 
of  conduct  or  character.  Now,  whatever  they  be  in 
reality,  they  are  apparently,  at  least,  judgments  of  abso- 
lute, not  merely  of  relative  value;  for  it  is  usually 
thought  and  asserted  that  conduct  is  good  or  bad,  not 
merely  relatively,  i.e.,  according  as  we  choose  to  regard 
a  certain  end  {e.g.,  the  good  of  the  society  in  which 
we  live)  as  desirable  or  not,  but  absolutely,  i.e.,  without 
relation  to  our  individual  views  of    what  is  desirable 


3°  Ethics  [Bk.  I 

or  not  desirable  in  particular  circumstances.  This 
apparently  is  the  meaning  of  duty  and  right  as  con- 
trasted with  pleasure  or  utility.  In  other  words,  morality 
is  commonly  thought  to  be  required  by  the  nature  of 
things  as  a  whole,  not  merely  by  the  circumstances  in 
which  we  happen  to  live.  It  is  not  necessary  here  to 
decide  whether  this  opinion  is  true  or  false.  Clearly  if 
it  is  true  there  is  a  most  intimate  connection  between 
ethics  and  metaphysics.  And  even  if  it  'be  false  it  is 
difficult  to  see  how  its  falsity  can  be  proved  without 
more  or  less  overt  reference  to  a  philosophical  doctrine 
of  the  place  of  man  in  the  universe,  and  his  relation  to 
its  central  principle  and  purpose. 

{b)  Man''  s  consciousness  of  himself  as  a  member  of  society 
involves  a  referetice  to  a  cosniic  order.  This  intimate  con- 
nection between  ethics  and  metaphysics  may  further  be 
illustrated  from  the  fact  that  in  the  former  we  have  to 
do,  not  only  with  man  as  related  to  his  material  and 
social  environment,  but  with  man  as  conscious  of  this 
relationship.  For  this  consciousness,  as  may  be  easily 
shown,  involves  a  reference  to  the  whole  world  besides, 
as  a  cosmos  or  order  in  which  he  has  a  place.  In  being 
conscious  of  himself  as  a  citizen  of  a  particular  state,  or 
as  a  member  of  the  human  brotherhood,  he  is  also  con- 
scious of  himself  as  a  citizen  of  the  world  and  as  a  mem- 
ber of  a  cosmos  of  related  beings.  And  just  as  it  is 
impossible  to  think  of  himself  as  a  member  of  any  lesser 
circle  of  relations,  e.g.,  of  the  family,  without  thinking  of 
himself  as  a  member  of  a  larger  circle,  e.g.,  a  society  or 
state,  so  it  is  impossible  to  think  of  himself  as  a  member 
of  society  without  thinking  of  himself  as  a  member  of 
a  universal  or  cosmic  order.  His  thought  of  himself, 
moreover,  in  this  latter  aspect,  overflows,  as  it  were,  into 


Ch.  Ill]  Scope  of  the  Science  of  Ethics  31 

all  his  other  thoughts  about  himself,  transforming  and 
moulding  them  in  such  a  way  that  it  is  impossible  to 
treat  of  any  of  the  lower  forms  of  consciousness,  e.^;;., 
his  social  consciousness,  without  taking  the  higher  into 
account.  It  is  of  course  possible  for  the  moment  and 
for  purposes  of  science  to  abstract  one  aspect  or  form  of 
consciousness,  such  as  the  consciousness  of  ourselves  as 
members  of  a  particular  society,  from  our  consciousness 
of  ourselves  in  general,  just  as  it  is  possible  to  abstract  a 
particular  form  or  aspect  of  space  or  of  force  from  space 
or  force  in  general.  But  when  we  come  to  analyse  our 
social  consciousness  into  its  constituent  elements,  and 
ask,  as  we  do  in  ethics.  What  is  its  nature  and  contents? 
we  find  that  the  answer  depends  upon  our  answer  to  the 
wider  question,  as  to  the  nature  and  contents  of  con- 
sciousness as  a  whole,  in  a  far  more  intimate  way  than 
does  the  question  of  the  properties  of  the  triangle  or  the 
electric  current  upon  the  question  of  the  nature  of  space 
or  force  in  general.  Thus,  to  take  a  single  instance,  the 
science  of  mathematics  will  remain  unaffected  whether 
we  believe  with  one  school  of  metaphysicians  that  our 
knowledge  of  space  is  given  from  without,  or  with 
another  that  it  is  an  a  priori  form  contributed  by  the 
mind  itself.  But  no  one  could  say  that  cur  ethical 
analysis  of  that  form  of  social  consciousness  which 
we  call  conscience  will  remain  unaffected  whether  we 
believe  with  the  Epicureans  that  the  world  is  an  acci- 
dental concourse  of  atoms,  or  hold  with  the  Stoics  that 
it  is  the  reflection  of  divine  intelligence.  We  are  thus 
led  to  the  conclusion  that,  while  the  natural  sciences 
may  be  said  to  be  practically  independent  of  metaphys- 
ics, the  conclusions  of  philosophy  as  to  the  nature  of 
the  world  at  large  and  man's  relation  to  it  are  of  the 


32 


Ethics  [Bk.  I 


utmost   Importance  to  ethics,  and  cannot  be  neglected 
in  a  complete  exposition  of  its  subject-matter.* 

While  this  is  so,  it  may  be  convenient  and  even 
necessary,  in  an  elementary  treatise  like  the  present, 
to  consider  the  subject-matter  of  ethics  with  as  litde 
reference  as  possible  to  the  philosophical  questions 
involved.  Little  harm  can  come  of  this  course,  so 
long  as  we  know  what  we  are  about.  It  only  comes 
to  be  misleading  when  we  confuse  the  temporary  con- 
venience of  neglecting  these  questions  with  the  per- 
manent possibility  of  doing  so.  To  assert  that  we  may 
for  purposes  of  investigation  abstract  from  metaphysical 
considerations  is  one  thing;  to  assert  their  irrelevance  to 
our  ultimate  results  is  quite  another. 

§  11.    Ethics  as  a  "  Practical "  Science 

Ethics  has  sometimes  been  distinguished  from  the 
natural  sciences  on  the  ground  that  it  is  practical,  while 
they  are  theoretic.  On  examination,  however,  the  dis- 
tinction is  found  to  be  a  superficial  one.  It  is  true, 
indeed,  that  ethics  stands  nearer  to  our  everyday  life 
than  do,  for  instance,  astronomy  or  physiology.  Its 
very  name,  as  we  have  seen,  implies  this,  and  on  this 
ground  it  has  sometimes  been  called  practical  philos- 
ophy. It  is  the  science  of  conduct  (7r/oa|ts)  and  the 
judgments  which  more  deeply  affect  it.  Its  conclusions 
may  therefore  be  said  to  be  of  immediate  and  universal 
interest  in  a  sense  which  cannot  be  claimed  for  the 
conclusions  of  the  sciences  just  mentioned.  But  this 
does  not  carry  us  far.     For  it  may  easily  be  shown  that 

*  The  precise  point  at  which  metaphysical  questions  press  them- 
selves upon  our  notice  will  be  noted  below.     See  p.  215. 


Ch.  Ill]  Scope  of  the  Science  of  Ethics  TjT, 

as  a  science  ethics  is  just  as  theoretic  as  astronomy  or 
physiology,  while,  as  furnishing  the  basis  for  the  scientific 
practice  of  the  arts,  e.g.,  of  navigation  and  of  healing, 
these  sciences  are  just  as  practical  as  ethics. 

The  idea  that  there  can  be  such  a  thing  as  a  science 
which  is  purely  theoretic  comes  from  our  habit  of 
thinking  of  the  natural  sciences  as  systems  of  truth 
elaborated  in  books  which  are  chiefly  useful  as  a  means 
of  intellectual  training.  In  the  early  stages  of  the  his- 
tory of  science  such  a  mistake  was  impossible.  Man's 
interest  in  the  laws  of  nature  was  then  only  the  reflection 
of  his  interest  in  his  own  ends  and  purposes.  Causes 
in  nature  were  only  interesting  as  means  to  practical 
ends.*  It  is  true  that  there  came  a  time  when  man 
began  to  develop  that  "disinterested  curiosity  "  which  is 
the  condition  of  all  higher  achievement  in  science.  Yet 
it  is  equally  true  that,  just  in  proportion  as  scientific 
research  becomes  divorced  from  the  practical  interest 
that  man  has  in  the  subjugation  of  nature,  there  is  a 
danger  that  it  may  become  pedantic  or  dilettanti. f 
Even  the  most  abstract  and  theoretic  of  all  the  sciences, 
viz.,  metaphysics  or  philosophy,  while,  as  Novalis  said, 
"it  bakes  no  bread,"  is  not  without  important  bearing 
on  the  practical  problems  of  everyday  life. 

On  the  other  hand,  the  notion  that  ethics  is  less 
theoretic  than  any  other  science  can  only  come   from 

*  See  Hoffding's  PsycJiology,  p.  240  (Eng.  Tr.). 

t  Mr.  Casaubon's  Key  to  all  Mythologies  in  Middlemarck 
appears  to  have  been  of  this  character.  One  cannot  help  a  sus- 
picion that  much  of  the  erudition  of  the  present  time,  which,  as 
Hegel  once  said,  "  finds  most  to  be  done  where  there  is  least  to  be 
got  from  it,"  is  in  the  same  condition.  On  the  whole  subject  see 
Note  at  end  of  Book  IV.  below. 


34  Ethics  [Bk.  i 

the  tendency,  already  remarked  upon,  to  confuse  theory 
with  practice  in  the  field  of  conduct — ideas  and  judg- 
ments about  morality  in  the  study  or  in  the  class-room 
with  moral  ideas  and  moral  judgments  in  the  concrete 
circumstances  of  daily  life. 

§  12.    Has  Ethics  to  do  with  what  Ought  to  be  rather 
than  with  w^hat  Is? 

Closely  allied  with  the  view  just  criticised  is  another 
that  is  not  less  misleading.  Ethics,  it  is  said,  differs 
from  the  natural  sciences  in  that,  while  they  deal  with 
things  as  they  are,  ethics  deals  with  them  as  they  ought 
to  be.  This  distinction,  it  is  maintained,  is  based  upon 
the  fundamental  antithesis  between  natural  and  moral 
law.    The  former  is  the  law  of  what  is,  the  latter  of  what 

rtc^j^X^o  be. 

</  Now  it  is  undoubtedly  true  that  for  the  individual 

the  moral  law  represents  something  that  ought  to  be, 
as  opposed  to  physical  law,  which  is  a  statement  of  what 
is.  The  law  of  gravitation  is  a  statement  of  the  actual 
relation  between  the  pen  I  hold  in  my  hand  and  the 
earth  which  attracts  it.  On  the  other  hand,  the  law  that 
I  shall  be  perfectly  sincere  in  the  opinions  I  express 
by  my  writing  is  a  statement  of  what  ought  to  be  my 
relation  to  my  reader,  whatever  the  actual  fact  may  be. 
But  this  is  no  more  than  to  say  that,  as  by  this  time  must 
be  obvious  to  the  student,  these  two  are  laws  in  a  wholly 
different  sense.  In  the  one  case  we  have  a  scientific 
generalisation  from  the  observation  of  facts,  in  the  other 
we  have  a  rule  or  maxim  flowing  from  such  a  generalisa- 
tion. What  corresponds  to  moral  law  in  this  sense  is 
the  practical  rule  deducible  from  the  conclusions  of  any 
particular  science,   e.g.,   the  rules  of  health  which  are 


Ch.  Ill]  Scope  of  the  Science  of  Ethics  35 

deducible  from  the  conclusions  of  physiology.  On  the 
other  hand,  what  corresponds  in  ethics  to  the  theoretic 
conclusions  of  science  are  the  definitions,  classifications, 
and  explanations  of  which  I  gave  a  general  account  in 
the  preceding  chapter.  It  is,  indeed,  true  that  in  the 
search  for  the  conclusions  there  sketched  out  we  start 
from  judgments  of  what  ought  to  be, — this  constitutes 
the  distinctive  mark  of  the  science, — but  it  deals  with 
these  judgments  as  actual  facts.  At  each  step,  more- 
over, in  its  progress  the  science  is,  as  we  shall  see,  in 
the  closest  contact  with  concrete  facts,  in  just  as  true  a 
sense  as  any  other  science.  Thus  it  is  its  aim  to  show 
how  moral  judgments  as  to  what  ought  to  be  are  always 
relative  to  what  is;  they  imply  at  every  point  the  actual 
existence  of  a  moral  order,  apart  from  which,  as  it  is 
revealed  in  social  relations,  there  could  be  no  such 
thing  as  a  moral  law,  any  more  than,  apart  from  the 
known  relations  of  the  bodily  organs  to  one  another 
in  what  we  might  call  the  physiological  order  which 
reveals  itself  in  them,  there  could  be  any  laws  of  health 
in  the  ordinary  sense  of  the  term. 

In  criticising  the  distinction  which  it  has  been  sought 
to  establish  between  ethics  and  other  sciences,  on  the 
ground  of  the  difference  between  the  "ought"  and  the 
"is,"  I  have  not  meaiit  to  deny  or  in  any  way  to 
obliterate  the  latter  antithesis.  However  closely  these 
categories  may  be  related  to  one  another,  no  identifica- 
tion of  them  is  ultimately  possible.  I  have  merely 
wished  to  point  out  that  the  distinction  between  them 
is  not  applicable  as  a  principle  of  division  among  the 
sciences  themselves.* 

*  See  Dewey's  Otitlines  of  Ethics,  pp.  174  foil. 


36  Ethics  [Bk.  I 


§  13.    Distinction  between  Ethics  and  Politics 

It  remains  to  distinguish  ethics  from  a  science  with 
which  it  may  seem  to  have  been  confused,  when  we  spoke 
of  the  former  as  having  to  do  with  man  as  a  member  of 
society,  namely,  politics.*  The  connection  between  them 
is  obvious.  They  both  deal  with  human  conduct  and 
character.  They  both  treat  of  these  in  connection  with 
the  end  of  human  good,  and  therefore  as  the  subject  of 
moral  judgment.  They  both  conceive  of  them  as  subject 
to  laws,  carrying  with  them  judicial  rewards  and  penalties. 
The  difference  is  that  while  ethics  is  concerned  with  the 
analysis  of  conduct  and  character  as  the  subjects  of  moral 
judgment  (/.<?.,  as  right  and  wrong),  simply,  politics  has  to 
do  with  the  analysis  of  those  external  forms  and  institu- 
tions which  lay  down  in  outline  the  fields  in  which  right 
conduct  primarily  manifests  itself, viz., the  family,  school, 
church,  profession,  etc.  Hence  ethics  may  be  said  to 
precede  politics.  Only  after  we  have  arrived  at  a  clear 
conception  of  the  inward  nature  of  right  conduct  can 
we  hope  to  settle  the  question  as  to  its  proper  external 
conditions.      The    foundation   of    a    true    criticism   of 

*  The  word  is  here  used  in  its  ancient  and  honourable,  not  in  its 
somewhat  degraded  modern  sense.  Just  as  "  Ethics  "  is  preferred 
to  the  more  ambitious  title  of  "  Moral  Philosophy,"  so  "  Politics  " 
may  be  preferred  to  "  Political  Philosophy,"  but  in  both  cases  it  is 
to  be  understood  that  a  science,  not  an  art,  is  intended.  The  hybrid 
term,  "  Sociology,"  seems  likely  to  assert  a  place  for  itself.  I  under- 
stand the  word  ars  meaning  the  theory  of  society  in  general,  incluling 
its  origin  and  growth,  whereas  politics  is  the  theory  of  civilised 
society  organised  as  a  state.  On  the  distinction  between  Society 
and  State,  see  D.  G.  Ritchie's  Principles  of  State  In'erference, 
Appendix. 


Ch.  HI]  Scope  of  the  Science  of  Ethics  37 

political  institutions  must  be  laid  in  a  true  criticism  ot 
human  life  as  subject  to  a  supreme  law  or  purpose,  i.e., 
in  ethics. 

Hence  also  the  familiar  distinctions  between  political 
and  moral  law: — (i)  Morality  is  more  authoritative  than 
law,  conscience  than  political  institutions.  Morality 
judges  the  latter,  declaring  them  to  be  bad  or  good.  A 
bad  political  law  or  institution  is  unfortunately  a  com- 
mon phenomenon;  a  bad  moral  law  is  a  contradiction 
in  terms.*  (2)  Morality  extends  over  a  wider  field  than 
legal  enactment.  It  takes  account  ol  all  conduct,  not 
of  some  departments  only.  This  follows  from  the  dis- 
tinction already  drawn  between  politics  and  ethics.  For 
as  politics  is  the  science  of  the  external  conditions  of 
morality,  the  corresponding  art — practical  government 
— takes  account  only  of  those  kinds  of  conduct  which 
endanger  these  conditions.  These  conditions  are  not 
indeed  confined,  as  a  popular  philosophical  dogma 
represents,  to  protection  of  person  and  property, — such 
a  limitation  is  purely  arbitrary, — they  embrace  family 
life,  education,  recreation,  and  everything  that  admits  of 
public  organisation  in  the  interest  of  morality.  Yet  the 
details  of  conduct  within  the  circle  of  these  conditions, 
e.g.,  within  the  family,  the  school,  the  theatre,  lie  out- 
side this  field,  if  for  no  other  reason  than  their  infinite 

*  The  practical  steps  that  ought  to  be  taken  in  consequence  of 
such  an  unfavourable  judgment  upon  any  particular  law  or  institution 
will,  of  course,  depend  upon  circumstances.  The  obvious  formula 
in  a  country  like  our  own  is :  agitation  for  reform  phis  temporary 
conformity.  If  any  one  thinks  he  can  best  agitate  by  refusing  to  con- 
form, and  taking  the  consequences,  he  may  be  admired  for  his  moral 
zeal,  but  he  will  be  punished  for  his  political  disobedience.  The 
justification  will  be  that  more  moral  harm  would  come  from  leaving 
the  law  unvindicated  than  from  punishing  an  enthusiast  for  reform. 


^8  Ethics  [Bk.  I 

multiplicity.    (3)  A  deeper  difference  is  that  political  law 
has  to  do  with  conduct  in  its  external  consequences,  or  if 
it  goes  deeper  merely  takes  account  of  intention.     It 
takes  account  of  such  visible  effects  as  theft  of  property, 
neglect  of  wife  and  children,  etc.     On  the  other  hand, 
the  invisible  things   of    the    mind   are    recognised    by 
most  civilised  governments  as  outside  of  their  sphere. 
Morality  regulates  the  imaat-d  motive*  and  disposition 
as  well  as  the  outward  effect, — the  conduct  of  the  under- 
standing and  the  imasrination  as  well  as  conduct  towards 
property  or  children,      it  says  not  only  "Thou  shalt  not 
steal,"   "Thou  shalt  not  kill,"  but  "Think   no   evil," 
"Flee   vain    and    foolish    imaginations."      This    also 
follows  from  the  distinction  between  the  external  con- 
ditions and  the  life  for  which  these  are  intended  to  naake 
room.     Political  enactment  can  maintain  property,  the 
currency,  the  family,  public  education;  it  cannot  secure 
that  the  citizens  shall  use  these  institutions  in  the  spirit 
and  for  the  purpose  for  which  they  were  intended, — a  truth 
which  is  expressed  in  the  common  saying  that  you  can 
not  make  men  moral  by  act  of  parliament.     The  justifi- 
cation for  legislation  which  apparently  has  this  aim — e.g., 
the  regulation  or  suppression  of  public  houses — is  not 
that  by  means  of  it  we  may  make  certan  persons  conform 
to  moral  demands,  e.g.,  abstain  from  intoxicating  liquor, 
but  that  we  may  improve  the  conditions  of  the  moral  life 
for  the  community  at  large,  e.g.,  for  the  neighbours  or  the 
children  of  the  toper.     The  man  who  abstains  merely 
because  owing  to  the  state  of  the  law  he  cannot  get  liquor 
is  obviously  not  moral.     A  distinguished  churchman  is 
said  to  have  remarked  to   the    late  Professor  Thorold 
Rogers,  "We  must  have  compulsory  religion,  because 
*  On  the  difference  between  intention  and  motive,  see  below,  p.  58. 


Ch.  Ill]  Scope  of  the  Science  of  Ethics  39 

otherwise  we  shall  have  none  at  all,"  to  which  the 
Professor  replied  that  he  didn't  see  the  difference.  The 
same  might  be  said  of  compulsory  morality :  it  is  equiv- 
alent to  no  morality  at  all.  The  further  definition  of 
conduct,  which,  as  we  have  just  seen,  is  in  its  fullest 
extent  the  subject  of  moral  judgment,  will  be  the  object 
of  our  next  inquiry.* 

*  On  the  general  subject  of  the  relation  between  Law  and 
Morality,  see  Sidgwicl^'s  AletJiods  of  Ethics,  Book  I.,  ch.  ii.  ;  also 
Elone^its  of  Politics,  ch.  xiii.  ;  and  on  the  apparent  permanency  of 
the  legal  as  compared  with  the  moral  code,  Alexander,  op.  cit.,  p.  286. 


BOOK    II 

MORAL  JUDGMENT 


CHAPTER   I 

THE  OBJECT  OF  MORAL  JUDGMENT 

§  14.    What  is  Conduct? 

We  have  seen  that  ethics  has  to  do  with  conduct  and 
character,  and  that  it  differs  from  a  physical  or  experi- 
mental treatment  of  the  phenomena  of  human  action  in 
that  its  subject-matter  is  a  form  of  judgment  upon  them. 
Before  proceeding  further  we  must  try  to  get  a  clear 
idea  of  what  is  meant  by  conduct  and  character. 

It  seems  natural  to  define  conduct  as  "human  action." 
And  this  is  a  good  definition  if  we  understand  properly 
what  is  meant  by  "  human  action."  For  instance,  breath- 
ing is  a  human  action,  but  this  is  clearly  not  included  in 
conduct,  for  we  do  not  distinguish  a  good  and  a  bad 
in  automatic  actions  of  this  kind.  In  other  words,  the 
action  is  not  distinctively  human  at  all.  It  belongs  to 
man  as  an  animated  mechanism,  not  as  man.  Nor  do 
we  mend  matters  by  adding  "conscious"  to  action, 
and  identifying  conduct  with  conscious  action.  I  am 
conscious  of  winking  my  eyes  when  the  sun  strikes 
them,  and  of  starting  when  I  hear  a  sharp  sound,  but 
these  actions  are  not  yet  conduct.  They  are  known 
in  psychology  as  reflex   actions.*      As   such  they  are 

*  On  the  distinction  between  reflex  action,  instinct,  and  volition, 
see  Hoffding,  Psychology,  Eng.  Tr.,  ch.  vii.,  and  for  a  full  discussion 
of  the  "  instinctive  germs  of  voHtion,"  Bain's  Senses  and  Intellect, 
pp.  246  foil. 

43 


44  Ethics  [Bk.  ii 

shared  in  by  the  lower  animals,  and  are  not  distinctively 
human.  The  element  that  is  still  wanting  is  will  or 
volition.  Between  the  merely  reflex  and  the  voluntary 
action  which  constitutes  conduct  there  is  all  the 
difference  that  there  is  (to  take  our  previous  example) 
between  the  blinking  of  the  cat  in  the  sunshine  and  the 
movement  of  my  pen  across  this  sheet  of  paper.  The 
difference  is  that  the  latter  is  willed,  so  that  we  may 
define  conduct  as  voluntary  action.* 

§  15.    Apparent  Exceptions  to  this  Definition 

Against  the  view  that  moral  judgment  attaches  only 
to  voluntary  action,  it  might  be  urged  that  we  pass 
moral  judgments  on  many  actions  that  are  not  volun- 
tary, e.g.,  on  habitual  actions.  How  is  this  to.  be 
explained  if  moral  predicates  attach  only  to  conduct, 
and  conduct  is  always  voluntary  action?  The  answer  is, 
that  though  the  habit  may  have  become  so  strong  as 
to  have  completely  mastered  the  will,  and  we  can  no 
longer  be  said  to  be  responsible  for  its  consequences, 
yet  there  was  a  time  when  each  repetition  of  the  action 
was  voluntary.  So  that,  while  w^e  cannot  strictly  be  said 
to  be  responsible  for  the  habitual  act  as  an  isolated 
event,  seeing  that  it  is  not  a  voluntary  one,  we  are 
responsible  for  it  as  an  instance  of  a  habit  which  has 
been  voluntarily  acquired,  and  which  we  ought  to  have 
checked  before  it  became  inveterate. f  In  other  words, 
w^hat  we  really  judge  in  such  a  case  is  the  series  of 
voluntary  acts  whereby  the  habit  has  become  irresistible. 

Contrariwise,   if  conduct  and  voluntary  action  are  to 

*  On  the  distinction  here  drawn  between  conduct  and  action, 
see  Lotze's  Practical  Philosophy.,  pp.  23  foil. 

t  See  Aristotle's  Ethics,  Book  III.,  ch.  vii.,  where  this  point  is 
raised,  and  once  for  all  solved  in  the  above  sense. 


Ch.  I]  The   Object  of  Moral  Judgment  45 

be  taken  as  equivalent  terms,  the  difficulty  might  be 
raised  that  many  actions  are  clearly  seen  to  be  voluntary, 
and  yet  are  not  commonly  reckoned  as  conduct  or  made 
the  subject  of  moral  judgment.  Thus  it  is  thought  that 
while  the  artisan  is  at  his  work,  though  all  his  acts  may 
be  strictly  voluntary,  yet  they  are  not  conduct :  conduct 
(that  in  virtue  of  which  we  apply  moral  attributes  to  him) 
only  begins  when  he  lays  down  his  tools.  We  do  indeed 
blame  him  for  being  dilatory  or  careless  in  his  work,  but 
this  is  thought  to  be  on  the  ground  of  his  breaking  his 
contract  with  his  employer,  not  on  the  ground  of  the 
work  itself.  Similarly,  in  the  higher  fields  of  the  artist 
and  the  scientific  reasoner  or  experimentalist,  we  do  not 
generally  think  of  their  labour  as  conduct.  The  distinc- 
tion, however,  here  urged  is  entirely  arbitrary,  and  can- 
not bear  investigation.  The  conduct  of  the  hand  and 
eye  and  intellect  in  daily  work  is  as  much  moral  conduct 
as  the  voluntary  dealings  with  Ourselves  and  others  out- 
side that  work.  An  artisan  or  an  artist  or  a  writer  who 
does  not  "  do  his  best "  is  not  only  an  inferior  workman, 
but  a  bad  man.*  Conduct  then  embraces  not  merely  a 
section  of  man's  voluntary  life;  it  is  not  "three-fourths 
of  life,"  as  Matthew  Arnold  said  of  it,  or  any  other 
vulgar  fraction  of  it,  but  the  whole  of  life  so  far  as  it  is 
human  life  at  all. 

§  16.    What  is  Will? 

It  remains  to  ask  what  this  Will  or  Volition  is  which 
brings  human  action  within  the  reach  of  moral  judg- 
ment.    The  investigation  of  the  phenomena  of  will  as 

*  Carlyle  once  said  of  a  joiner  who  was  doing  a  job  in  his  house  in 
Chelsea  that  he  "broke  the  whole  decalogue  with  every  stroke  of  his 
hammer." 


46  Ethics  [Bk.  il 

a  side  or  aspect  of  the  human  mind  is  one  for  psychol- 
ogy rather  than  ethics.  Here  it  must  suffice  to  give 
a  short  statement  of  the  results  reached  by  psychology, 
so  far  as  they  are  necessary  for  the  right  understanding 
of  what  follows. 

This  will  best  be  done  by  taking  a  simple  instance  and 
analysing  it.  Let  us  take  the  voluntary  action  of  rising 
and  going  nearer  to  the  fire.  What  does  this  involve? 
(i)  Let  us  say  it  involves  a  feeling  of  pain  arising  from 
the  sensation  of  being  cold.  Feeling  is  an  element  in  all 
conscious  action,  and  by  feeling  is  meant  simply  pleasure 
or  pain.  This  is  involved  even  in  the  most  unemotional 
actions,  as  in  the  investigation  of  a  scientific  problem. 
If  there  were  no  element  of  feeling,  of  pleasure  in  the 
thought  of  the  acquisition  of  knowledge  or  of  pain  in 
the  thought  of  being  without  it  {i.e.,  unless  we  had  an 
interest  in  it),  the  activity  itself  would  be  impossible. 
In  the  case  chosen  for  illustration  it  is  obvious  enough 
that  there  is  an  element  of  feeling,  and  that  on  the 
supposition  that  the  action  we  have  under  analysis  is 
voluntary  this  feeling  makes  itself  felt  distinctly  as  mine. 
It  involves  the  incipient  judgment,  "I  feel  cold."  In 
proportion  as  this  is  realised  my  state  is  recognised  as 
different  from  the  state  of  the  cat  which  at  the  same 
moment  shows  signs  of  moving  to  the  fire  also.  (2) 
There  is  desire  of  the  warmth  of  the  fire.  It  is  im- 
portant to  note  the  new  elements  that  are  here  intro- 
duced, {a)  There  is  the  idea  of  the  fire  and  its  heat 
in  a  particular  direction  and  at  a  particular  distance, 
and  of  myself  as  warmed  by  it.  (/^)  Side  by  side,  and 
contrasted  with  this,  there  is  the  idea  of  my  present 
cold  self,  the  contrast  producing  a  heightened  state  of 
feeling  curiously  compounded  of  the  pain  of  the  present 


Ch.  I]  The   Object  of  Moral  Judgment  47 

state  and  the  pleasure  or  interest  in  the  idea  of  the 
fire.  (<:)  But  if  these  two  were  all, — if  the  rise  of  the 
idea  of  the  fire  were  immediately  followed  by  its  enjoy- 
ment, as  putting  on  the  wishing-cap  in  the  story  means 
possession  of  the  thing  wished  for, — there  would  be  no 
such  thing  as  desire  or  will.  It  is  the  fact  that  there  is 
resistance  to  be  overcome,  something  to  be  done,  that 
is  the  condition  of  both.  Desire  is  a  state  of  tension 
created  by  the  contrast  between  the  present  state  of  the 
self  and  the  idea  of  a  future  state  not  yet  realised.  But 
desire  is  not  will,  as  may  be  seen  from  the  fact  that  there 
may  be  a  conflict  of  desires  in  the  mind,  as,  in  our  illus- 
tration, the  conflict  between  the  desire  of  getting  on  with 
my  work  and  the  desire  of  getting  up  and  going  to  the 
fire.  (3)  This  is  the  stage  of  delibera4ioji^_lxi-w\i\<:h.  the 
mind  weighs,  as  in  a  balance,  two  or  more  mutually 
exclusive  objects  of  desire.  Finally,  Will,  or  Volition, 
is  the  act  by  \vhich  attention  is  concentrated  on  the  one 
object  of  desire,  to -the  exclusion  of  the  others.  Hence 
there  is  further  involved  (4)  the  "  actofjhoicCj,]l_  "  deci- 
sion,"  or  "resolution,"  the  essence  of  which  is  that  I 
identify  myself  in  anticipation  with  a  particular  object 
and  with  the  particular  line  of  action  required  to  real- 
ise it.  It  may  be,  however,  that  the  actual  realisation 
is  deferred  to  a  future  time,  e.g.,  till  I  have  finished 
a  book  or  a  letter.  In  this  case  I  am  said  to  have 
made  a  resolution,  which  means  that  the  idea  is,  as  it 
were,  hung  up  meantime  in  a  state  of  suspended  anima- 
tion, to  be  called  into  life  again  when  the  proper  moment 
shall  arrive.     We  do  indeed  pass  moral  judgments  upon 

*  With  reference  to  the  object  or  end.  At  a  later  stage,  after  the 
resolution  has  been  taken,  there  is  usually  a  subsidiary  process  of 
deliberation  as  to  the  means, 


48  Ethics  [Bk.  II 

resolutions,*  but  they  are  only  provisional.  A  man  is 
not  good  because  he  makes  good  resolutions,  nor  bad 
because  he  makes  bad  ones.  It  is  only  when  the  resolu- 
tion passes  into  conduct  that  it  justly  becomes  the  object 
of  a  moral  judgment.! 

§  17.    Relation  of  Desire  to  Will  and  Character 

The  chief  difficulty  in  considering  an  act  of  will  does 
not,  however,  attach  to  the  analysis  of  it  into  its  elements, 
but  to  the  question  of  the  manner  in  which  we  are  to 
conceive  of  these  elements  as  related  to  one  another  in 
the  concrete  act. 

*  And  even  on  desires.     See  Matthew's  Gospel,  v.  28. 

t  How  far  the  resolution  is  from  the  completed  act  has  become 
a  proverb  in  respect  to  good  resolutions.  It  is  not,  perhaps,  very 
creditable  to  human  nature  that  a  similar  reflection  with  regard  to 
bad  resolutions  does  not  make  us  more  charitable  to  persons  who  are 
caught  apparently  on  the  way  to  a  crime.  Hoffding  (^Psychology, 
Eng.  Ed.,  p.  342)  quotes  a  case  of  a  woman  who,  having  got  into 
a  neighbour's  garden  for  the  purpose  of  setting  fire  to  her  house,  and 
been  taken  almost  in  the  act,  swore  solemnly  in  court  that  she  knew 
she  would  not  have  perpetrated  the  act,  but  hesitated  to  state  upon 
oath  that  she  had  abandoned  her  intention  when  she  was  surprised. 
With  this  we  may  compare  the  passage  m  Mark  Rutherford's  story 
of  Miriam's  Schoohng,  where,  speaking  of  Miriam's  temptation  to 
take  her  own  life,  he  says :  "  Afterwards  the  thought  that  she  had 
been  close  to  suicide  was  for  months  a  new  terror  to  her.  She  was 
unaware  that  the  distance  between  us  and  dreadful  crimes  is  much 
greater  often  than  it  appears  to  be."  On  the  other  hand,  the  mere 
wish  for  a  result  {eg.,  Tito  Melema's  wish  for  his  father's  death  in 
Romola^  may  contain  already  in  itself,  all  unknown  to  the  conceiver 
of  it,  the  fully  formed  resolution  and  the  act  as  well.  The  occa- 
sion only  is  wanting  for  the  wish  and  the  deed  to  spring  together. 
On  the  subject  of  the  whole  section,  see  Ward's  art.  on  "  Psychol- 
ogy "  in  Enc  Brit.,  p.  74;  Green's  Proleg.  to  Ethics,  Book  II., 
ch.  ii. ;    Dewey's  Psychology,  pp.  360  foil.  , 


Ch.  I]  The    Object  of  Moral  Judgment  49 

Thus  it  is  a  common  mistake  to  think  of  a  desire 
as  an  isolated  element.  We  speak  of  our  "  having 
desires,"  "following  our  desires,"  "controlling  our 
desires,"  etc.,  as  though  they  were  something  separate 
from  ourselves,  acting  upon  us  from  without,  or  con- 
trolled by  us  as  an  unruly  horse  is  by  its  rider.*  This 
conception  of  the  relation  between  will  and  desire  is  at 
the  basis  of  the  anti-libertarian  doctrine,  that  conduct  is 
at  all  times  determined  by  the  strongest  desire,  i.e.  (since 
desire  is  a  force  outside  and  independent  of  the  will), 
by  something  other  than  free  choice.  The  conception, 
however,  is  itself  inaccurate.  It  is  forgotten  that  desires 
are  always  for  objects,  and  that  these  objects  are  always 
relative  to  a  self  for  whom  they  have  value.  It  is  owing 
to  their  having  a  value  for  self  that  they  become  objects 
of  desire,  and  thus  their  character,  even  their  very  ex- 
istence, is  always  dependent  upon  the  character  of  the 
self  to  whom  they  are  objects.  Thus  it  is  an  object  of 
desire  to  the  reader  to  apprehend  this  section  on  the 
nature  of  conduct,  but  it  is  so  in  virtue  of  his  intellectual 
and  moral  needs,  acquirements,  and  capacities.  In 
other  words,  the  desire  depends  upon,  and  is  organically 
related  to,  the  character  of  the  person  who  desires  to 
understand  this  book.  This  section  has  a  fignificance 
and  an  attraction  for  him  which  it  does  not  possess  for 
the  man  in  the  street,  precisely  in  virtue  of  the  difference 
of  their  respective  characters.  His  character  reflects 
itself  in  the  object  of  his  desire;  he  thinks  he  sees,  in 
the  idea  of  himself  as  having  read  the  book,  a  more 
desirable  self  than  his  present  self :  whereas  to  the  man 
in  the  street  the  sight  of  the  book  and  the  paragraph 

*  See  Plato's  well-known  simile  of  the  charioteer  and  the  horses, 
Phcedrus,  §  253. 


50 


Ethics  [Bk.  II 


gives  back  no  such  reflection,  and  awakens,  consequently, 
no  such  desire. 

These  considerations  bring  out  two  points  which  are 
of    the   utmost   importance    in   the   theory   of   desire. 
First,  human  desires  are  not  mere  irrational  forces  or 
tendencies  propelling  a   man  this  way  and  that  way. 
They   are    always    for   objects   more  or  less  definitely 
conceived.     As  such  they  are  to  be  distinguished  from 
mere  appetites  or  propensities  which  are  shared  by  the 
lower  animals.     Secondly,  these  objects  are  related  to 
a  self,  and  that  in  two  ways,     (a)  They  are  organically 
related,  as  just  explained,  to  the  character  of  that  self. 
So  far  from  being  the  creature  of  desire,  each  man  may 
be  said  to  create  his  own  desires,  in  the  sense  that,  as  he 
himself  changes  by  development  of  his  intellectual  and 
moral  powers,  he  changes  the  character  of  the  objects 
which  interest  him  or  which  he  desires,     (h)  They  are 
related  to  the  self,  in  that  it  is  the  realisation  of  them 
for   a   seif   that    is   desired.     Hence    it    is    indifferent 
whether  we  say,   e.g.,    I  desire  that  object,  or  I  desire 
myself  to  be  in  possession  of  that  object;  I  desire  to  read 
this  book,  or  I  desire  a  self  that  has  read  this  book. 
The  essential  point  to  note  is  that  all  desire,  and  there- 
fore all  will  (inasmuch  as  will  depends  upon  desire),  carry 
with  them  a  reference  to  self.    Their  object  is  a  form  of 
self-satisfaction.* 

§  IS.    ■Will  and  Self 

The  mistake  of  conceiving  of  will  and  desire  as  con- 
trolling or  controlled  from  without  is  connected  with  the 

*    Cp.  Bradley's,  EtJiical  Studies,  p.  62,  "  In  desire  what  is  desired 
must  in  all  cases  be  self," 


Ch.  I]  The   Object  of  Moral  Judgiuent  51 

more  fundamental  one  of  conceiving  of  the  will  and  the 
self  as  externally  related  to  one  another.  As  the  former 
may  be  said  to  be  the  characteristic  fallacy  of  those 
who  oppose  the  common  doctrine  of  the  freedom  of  the 
will,  the  latter  may  be  said  to  be  the  characteristic  mis- 
take of  those  who  support  it.*  The  latter  often  speak 
as  though  the  self  had,  among  its  other  faculties,  also 
a  will,  which  was  free  in  the  sense  of  being  able  to  act 
independently  of  desire,  and  of  the  character  which,  as 
we  have  seen,  reflects  itself  in  desire.  If  what  we  have 
already  said  be  true,  we  shall  suspect  this  view,  on  the 
ground  that,  as  we  have  already  seen,  will  is  dependent 
on  desire,  and  all  desire  is  related  to  self  and  character. 
We  cannot  be  too  careful  to  avoid  thinking  of  the  will 
?.%  possessed  hy  the  self  in  the  above  sense.  The  will  is 
the  self.  It  is  the  self  apprehended  as  consciously 
moving  towards  the  realisation  of  an  object  of  desire. 
It  thus  differs  from  conduct  as  the  inward  does  from 
the  outward  aspect  of  the  same  fact.  Looked  at  from 
the  inside,  the  fact  apprehended  is  that  of  a  self 
expressing  itself  in  conscious  action  with  a  purpose; 
looked  at  from  the  outside,  it  is  conduct.  Hence  it  will 
be  indifferent  whether  we  say  that  moral  judgments 
attach  to  conduct  or  to  the  will  (or  self)  that  realises 
itself  in  conduct. 

*  It  is  not  possible,  perhaps  not  desirable,  to  enter,  tn  a  text-book 
like  the  present,  into  a  full  discussion  of  the  vexed  and  difficult 
question  of  the  freedom  of  the  will.  The  above  remarks  are  rather 
warnings  against  initial  errors  in  approaching  the  sul^ject  than  a 
detailed  solution  of  its  difficulties.  For  a  critical  discussion  of 
the  points  at  issue  between  Libertarians  and  Determinists,  see 
Sidgwick's  Methods  of  Ethics,  Book  I.,  ch.  v.;  and  for  development 
of  a  view  similar  to  that  in  the  text.  Green's  Prolegotnena,  Book  II.. 
ch.  ii. 


52  Ethics  [Bk.  II 

§  19.    Conduct  and  Character 

In  defining  the  subject-matter  of  ethics,  we  said  that 
it  was  conduct  and  character;  but  hitherto  we  have  not 
been  in  a  position  to  set  these  two  in  their  proper  rela- 
tions to  one  another.  We  have  now,  however,  reached  a 
point  of  view  from  which  we  may  criticise  the  common 
ideas  of  that  relationship.  For  these  ideas  are  founded 
upon  an  error  similar  to  those  which  we  have  just  been 
criticising.  They  assume  that  the  will,  of  which  conduct, 
as  we  have  just  seen,  is  only  the  outer  side,  stands  to  the 
character  in  a  merely  external  relation;  the  only  differ- 
ence being  that,  while  by  some  it  is  conceived  of  as  de- 
termined by  it  as  by  a  natural  cause  {e.g.,  as  the  motion 
of  the  billiard  ball  is  determined  by  the  cue),  by  others 
the  will  is  conceived  of  as  capable  of  acting  in  an  inde- 
pendent line  of  its  own,  without  relation  to  character. 
It  will  help  us  to  steer  our  way  between  the  rocks  and 
shoals  of  this  controversy,  which  will  be  recognised  by  the 
student  as  that  between  Necessarianism  and  Libertarian- 
ism,  if  we  keep  clearly  before  us  two  distinctions  often 
overlooked. 

In  the  first  place,  there  is  the  distinction  between 
the  so-called  natural  tendencies  and  inherited  charac- 
teristics, such  as  quick  temper  or  indolent  disposition, 
which  are  the  raw  material  of  moral  training,  and  these 
same  as  elaborated  and  systematised  by  will  and  intelli- 
gence in  that  peculiar  mode  which  we  call  character. 
The  former,  as  isolated  elements  of  character,  may  in 
a  sense  be  said  to  be  "given,"  and  to  be  independent 
of  will;  though,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  they  never  come 
before  us  in  a  being  whose  conduct  may  be  made  the 
:>bject  of  moral  judgment,  except  ia  a  form  which  they 


Ch.  I]  The   Object  of  Moral  Judgment  53 

owe  to  the  reaction  of  will  and  intelligence  upon  them. 
Character,  on  the  other  hand,  is  the  acquired  habit  of 
regulating  these  tendencies  in  a  certain  manner,  in  rela- 
tion to  consciously  conceived  ends.  In  other  words, 
character  is  not  something  separate  from  will  and  acting 
upon  it  from  without,  but  is  the  habitual  mode  in  which 
will  regulates  that  system  of  impulses  and  desires  which, 
looked  at  subjectively,  is  the  field  of  its  exercise.* 

Secondly,  there  is  the  distinction  between  character  as 
relatively  fixed  and  static  at  the  moment  of  action,  and 
character  as  something  that  grows  and  changes  from 
moment  to  moment. 

In  its  former  aspect  volition  must  be  conceived  of 
as  determined  by  character;  the  individual  act  must 
be  taken  as  the  expression  or  embodiment  of  character. 
If  it  be  not  so  taken  it  is  difificult  to  see  in  what  sense 
we  can  speak  in  ordinary  language  of  a  man  as  respon- 
sible or  accountable  for  his  actions.  The  theoretic 
justification  of  moral  responsibility  is  the  presumption 
that  a  man's  voluntary  actions  may  be  taken  as  an  index 
to  the  moral  qualities  of  the  man  himself.  Any  other 
hypothesis  as  to  the  relation  between  character  and 
conduct — whether  it  be  that  of  the  determinist,  who 
supposes  actions  to  flow  from  previous  conditions,  as 
physical  effects  follow  upon  their  causes,  or  that  of  the 
libertarian,  who  isolates  the  will  from  character  as  a 
mysterious  power  of  unmotived  choice — is  incompatible 
with  human  responsibility.  On  the  former  hypothesis 
a  human  action  is  only  one  of  a  series  of  natural  effects, 
for  which  it   would   be    as   absurd   to   hold  the  agent 

*  Hence  character  has  been  defined  as  a  "  habit  of  will."  J.  S. 
Mill  calls  character  "  a  completely  fashioned  will," 


54  Ethics  [Bk.  ii 

accountable  as  it  would  be  to  hold  the  sun  accountable 
for  heat  or  the  clouds  for  rain.  On  the  latter  supposi- 
tion acts  of  choice  are  traced  to  an  abstract  force  or 
entity,  conceived  of  as  without  organic  relation  to  the 
concrete  self  or  personality  who  alone  can  be  the 
subject  of  moral  censure  or  approval.* 

On  the  other  hand,  looked  at  as  in  process  of  forma- 
tion or  growth,  character  must  be  conceived  of  as 
determined  by  volition.  As  already  pointed  out,t  our 
habits  of  conduct  are  the  result  of  an  indefinite 
multitude  of  past  actions,  which  in  the  first  instance 
were  voluntary.  If  any  one  objects  to  this  account, 
whereby  he  is  asked  to  conceive  of  character  as  at  once 
determining  and  determined  by  the  will,  we  shall  best 
answer  by  pointing  out  that  this  apparent  contradiction 
is  not  peculiar  to  the  relation  of  character  and  the 
individual  act :  it  is  simply  a  law  of  growth  generally. 
The  life  of  a  plant  furnishes  us  with  an  analogous 
instance.  At  any  moment  of  its  growth  the  plant  is 
determined  by  its  previous  state;  while,  on  the  other 
hand,  the  new  shoot  (which  corresponds  to  the  volitional 
act)  reacts  upon  and  changes,  or,  in  other  words,  deter- 
mines, the  future  growth  of  the  parent  plant.  We 
must,  however,  remember  that,  while  in  the  plant  the 
determining  and  the  determined  are  unconscious  of 
themselves  as  such,  man  (and  herein  lies  his  freedom) 
is  conscious  of  himself  as  at  once  determining  and 
determined  by  his  character.^ 

*  On  the  subject  of  responsibility,  see,  inter  alia,  Bradley,  op. 
cit.,  Essay  I.;   Dewey,  Outlines  of  Ethics,  p.  i6o. 

t  §   15  and  n. 

X  For  discussion  of  the  sense  in  which  character  can  be  taken  as 
fixed,  see  Bradley,  op.  cit..  Essay  I.,  Note  B. 


Ch.  1]  The   Object  of  Mo7'al  Judgment  55 

§  .20.    Is  Motive  or  Consequent  the   Essential  Element 
in  Conduct  as  the  Object  of  Moral  Judgment? 

There  still  remains  a  serious  difficulty  in  connection 
with  the  above  account  of  the  object  of  moral  judgment. 
The  object  of  moral  judgment,  it  has  been  said,  is  con- 
duct; but  conduct,  according  to  our  definition,  has  two 
aspects:  it  is  will  and  it  is  action;  it  involves  an  internal 
and  an  external  factor.  On  the  one  hand,  as  will  it  in- 
volves feeling,  and  desire,  which  again  involves  the  idea 
of  an  object.  On  the  other  hand,  actions  obviously  in- 
volve consequences :  in  action  the  will  goes,  so  to  speak, 
out  of  itself,  implicates  itself  in  an  external  world,  and 
in  realising  its  object  produces  an  effect.  Hence  the 
question  rises.  Which  of  these  factors  is  the  important 
one?  Is  conduct  judged  to  be  good  or  bad  in  respect 
of  the  feelings  and  desires  involved  in  the  volition,  or 
in  respect  to  the  consequences  which  are  involved  in  the 
action?  The  controversy  has  become  historic,  some 
philosophers  maintaining  that  the  rightness  or  wrong- 
ness  of  an  action  depends  upon  the  motive,  others  on 
the  consequences.  On  the  one  hand  J.  S.  Mill  asserts, 
"The  motive  has  nothing  to  do  with  the  morality  of 
the  act."  On  the  other  his  opponents  maintain  that 
"  the  rightness  or  wrongness  of  an  act  depends  very 
much  upon  the  motive  for  which  it  is  done." 

The  question  cannot  be  fully  answered  at  this  stage 
of  our  investigation.  The  answer  to  it  clearly  depends 
in  part  upon  our  conclusions  as  to  the  kind  of  conse- 
quences which  we  shall  agree  to  call  good,  i.e.,  upon  the 
answer  we  give  to  the  question,  What  is  the  "standard  " 
of  moral  judgment?  which  will  be  the  subject  discussed 
in  future  chapters.     Meantime  it  may  be  observed  that 


5  6  Ethics  [Bk.  II 

much  of  the  difficulty  turns  on  the  ambiguity  of  the 
word  motive,  upon  which,  in  its  relation  to  conduct,  we 
are  now  in  a  position  to  throw  some  light. 

§  21.    Meaning  of  Motive 

It  will  be  generally  agreed  that  the  motive  is  that 
which  moves  the  will.  It  may  therefore  be  looked  for 
in  one  or  other  of  the  conditions  which  we  found  on 
analysis  are  implied  in  any  act  of  will.  These  con- 
ditions are  chiefly  two,  feeling  and  desire.  In  which 
of  these  are  we  to  look  for  motive?  (i)  Some  have 
said  in  feeling,  and  there  is  a  sense  in  which  it  must  be 
admitted  that  feeling  is  the  moving  spring  of  action.  It 
is  certain  that  there  is  no  action  which  is  not  preceded 
by  feeling.  This  is  involved  in  saying,  as  we  did,  that 
feeling  is  invariably  present  as  an  element  in  desire. 
The  pleasure-seeker  must  have  a  feeling  of  pleasure  in 
the  thought  of  a  future  pleasure  before  he  can  be  moved 
to  pursue  it.  Similarly  the  benevolent  man  must  feel 
pleasure  in  the  thought  of  other  people's  happiness,  the 
scientific  man  in  the  thought  of  the  truth  to  be  dis- 
covered, before  the  will  of  either  can  be  set  in  motion. 
But  it  is  clear  that  this  feeling  cannot  be  the  motive 
of  an  action  in  the  sense  required.  For  whatever  else 
a  motive  is,  it  is  agreed  by  all  that  it  is  equivalent  to  an 
end  or  aim  representing  something  that  is  to  be  realised, 
e.g.,  a  future  pleasure  to  ourselves,  a  good  to  others,  or 
a  truth  to  be  discovered,  not  something  that  is  already 
realised,  as  is  the  feeling  in  question.  This  may  be 
otherwise  expressed  by  saying  that,  while  feeling  as  an 
element  in  desire  may  be  said  to  be  the  efficient  cause 
of  action,  a  motive  is  universally  admitted  to  be  a  final 
cause.     Moreover,  it  is  to  be  observed  in  connection  with 


Ch.  I]  The   Object  of  Moral  Judgment  5  7 

the  question  placed  at  the  head  of  the  i)receding  section 
that  feeling,  in  the  sense  just  explained,  has  in  itself  and 
as  feeling  no  moral  qualities  whatsoever.  It  is  only  in 
virtue  of  its  connection  with  certain  objects  that  it 
acquires  such  a  quality.  Thus  the  feeling  of  pleasure 
in  the  thought  of  a  pleasure  is  as  a  feeling  neither 
good  nor  bad.  Its  moral  quality  depends  wholly  on 
the  kind  of  pleasure  which  is  thought  of.  Similarly 
the  feeling  of  pleasure  at  the  thought  of  a  particular 
act  of  well-doing  or  a  particular  scientific  investigation 
has  upon  its  own  right  no  moral  superiority  over  any 
other  feeling.  It  only  derives  its  right  to  moral  appro- 
bation from  the  object  which  kindles  it;  in  other 
words,  from  the  end  or  aim  towards  which  the  desire 
of  which  it  is  an  element  is  directed.*  (2)  IVIay  we 
then  look  for  the  motive  in  the  desire?  It  is  clear 
that  it  cannot  be  simply  the  desire.  Desire  itself  is 
said  to  be  "moved,"  and,  as  we  have  seen,  it  is  moved 
by  the  idea  of  an  object;  it  is,  in  fact,  that  projection  of 
the  feeling  self  towards  an  object  not  yet  attained  which 
is  the  condition  of  volition.  (3)  Is  then  this  idea  of  the 
object  the  real  motive  of  the  action?  In  a  sense  it  is, 
but  a  question  might  still  be  asked.  Is  this  idea  of  a  de- 
sired object  a  motive  before  the  will  has  chosen  it,  or 
only  after  the  will  has  identified  itself  with  the  object 
and  been  "moved"  by  it?     By  some  motive  has  been 

*  It  might  be  said  (Martineau  seems  to  say  so.  Types  of  Ethical 
Theory,  Part  II.,  Book  II.,  ch.  vi.,  §  i)  that  malevolence  is  a  feel- 
ing which  is  unconditionally  bad.  But  malevolence  is  more  than 
a  feeling.  It  is,  as  the  word  indicates,  a  "  desire  for  evil "  to 
another.  On  the  whole  subject  of  the  relation  between  feeling  and 
motive,  see  Dewey,  op.  cit.,  pp.  5,  6,  7,  10,  loS.  Also  below,  p. 
no,  and  the  words  there  cited. 


58  Ethics  [Bk.  ti 

taken,  in  the  former  sense,  to  mean  the  idea  of  any  ob- 
ject presented  to  the  mind  as  desirable.  Popular  lan- 
guage would  seem  to  sanction  this  usage  when  it  speaks 
of  "a  conflict  of  motives,"  as  though  several  ideas  were 
fighting  for  mastery.  But  seeing  that  the  motive  is  that 
which  moves,  and  the  will  is  not  moved  until  it  chooses, 
it  seems  more  correct  to  define  motive  finally  as  the 
idea  of  the  object  which,  through  congruity  with  the 
character  of  the  self,  moves  the  will* 

§  22.    Motive  and  Intention 

Further  to  clear  the  ground  of  preliminary  difficulties 
which  beset  the  question  of  the  relation  of  motive  and 
consequent  to  one  another  and  to  moral  judgment,  we 
must  clearly  distinguish  between  motive  and  intention. 
Bentham  formulated  this  distinction  by  defining  motive 
as  that  for  the  sake  of  which  an  action  is  done;  whereas 
the  intention  includes  both  that  for  the  sake  of  which, 
and  that  in  spite  of  which,  anything  is  done.  Intention 
is  thus  wider  than  motive.  The  former  may  be  said 
to  include  the  latter,  but  not  vice  versa.  For  while  the 
end  or  consequent  for  the  sake  of  which  the  action  is 
done  is,  of  course,  intended,  it  is  only  part  of  the  inten- 
tion, and  is  sometimes  distinguished  from  the  other  part 
as  the  "ultimate  intention."  On  the  other  hand,  the 
consequences  of  the  intermediate  steps  or  the  means 
adopted,  though  part  of  the  intention,  are  not  part  of  the 
motive.  Thus  the  father  who  punishes  his  child  is  said 
to  intend  the  child's  good.  The  good  of  the  child  is 
the  motive.     But  he  also  intends  to  cause  the   child 

*  On  the  subject  of  motive,  see  Green,  op.  cit.,  Book  II.,  ch.  i., 
pp.  90  foil. 


Ch.  I]  The   Objfci  cf  Moral  Judgment  59 

pain;  the  pain,  however,  though  it  is  part  of  the  inten- 
tion, cannot  in  any  sense  be  called  the  motive  or  reason 
why  he  punished  him.  Or  take  the  case  of  the  man 
who  sells  his  coat  to  buy  a  loaf  of  bread.  "  His  motive 
is  to  buy  the  bread.  It  is  also  part  of  his  intention  to 
do  so.  It  is  part  of  his  intention  also  to  part  with  his 
coat,  but  this  cannot  in  any  intelligible  sense  be  said  to 
be  the  motive  of  his  conduct. 


§  23.    Bearing-  of  Results  on  Question  between  Motive 
and  Consequent 

If  we  now  revert  to  the  question  with  which  we  started, 
we  perceive  that  the  antithesis  upon  which  the  con- 
troversy turns  is  in  reality  a  false  one.  Motive  and 
consequent  are  not  really  opposed  to  one  another  in 
the  manner  supposed.  The  motive  is  the  ultimate  con- 
sequent as  apprehended  and  willed.  It  is  accordingly 
indifferent  whether  we  say  that  the  motive  or  the  con- 
sequent is  the  object  of  moral  judgment,  so  long  as 
we  understand  what  we  are  speaking  about.  Thus  we 
may  say  that  an  act  is  good  because  the  motive  is 
good,  but  we  shall  be  careful  to  note  that  by  motive 
we  mean,  not  a  mere  feeling,  but  the  end  with  which 
the  will  identifies  itself  in  the  action,  and  by  so  doing 
reveals  its  character.  On  the  other  hand,  we  may  say 
that  it  is  the  consequences  which  give  moral  character 
to  the  act;  but  again  we  shall  be  careful  to  note  that 
this  is  true  only  if  by  consequences  we  mean,  first, 
consequences  as  preconceived,  i.e.,  as  intended,  and, 
secondly,  those  of  the  intended  consequences  for  the  sake 
of  which  the  act  is  done,  i.e.,  the  idea  of  which  is  the 
final  cause  of  the  act.     A  man  cannot  be  held  respon- 


6o  Ethics  [Bk.  II 

sible  for  consequences  which  he  did  not  foresee,  except 
in  so  far  as  he  is  responsible  for  not  foreseeing  them. 
Nor  is  he  to  be  judged  good  or  bad  on  the  ground  of 
that  part  of  the  consequences  which  was  his  intention 
merely  and  not  his  motive.  So  judged,  the  regicide 
for  the  cause  of  freedom  would  be  condemned,  the 
tyrant  who  saved  a  victim  from  drowning  to  burn  him 
at  the  stake  would  be  justified.  Only  when  we  have 
taken  into  account  the  act  as  a  whole,  and  answered  the 
questions  (i)  whether  the  consequences  as  a  whole  are 
good  or  bad,  (2)  whether  these  consequences  were  the 
end  aimed  at,  have  we  a  right  to  found  our  moral  judg- 
ments upon  them.* 

§  24.    Will  and  Motive 

As  a  further  consequence  of  our  definition  of  motive, 
it  will  be  seen  that  what  was  said  in  a  previous  section 
on  the  relation  between  will  and  desire  applies,  mutatis 

*  It  has  been  said  that  most  of  the  great  historic  controversies 
have  turned  on  the  ambiguity  of  words.  The  present  seems  an 
instance  in  point.  Mill  properly  points  out  in  his  discussion  of  the 
above  question  {^Utilitarianism,  ch.  ii.  w.),  that  there  is  a  distinction 
between  motive  and  intention.  He  denies,  however,  that  the  motive 
has  anytliing  to  do  with  the  morality  of  the  action,  although  he 
admits  that  the  intention  has.  But  on  looking  closer  we  find  that 
he  means  by  intention  "  what  the  agent  wills  to  do"  which,  taken  in 
the  narrower  sense  of  the  ultimate  intention  explained,  is  precisely 
what  we  have  seen  to  be  the  proper  meaning  of  motive.  From  this 
he  distinguishes  motive  as  "  the  feeling  which  makes  him  will  so 
to  do,"  which  is  precisely  what  we  have  said  motive  ought  not  to 
mean,  for  the  feeling,  as  feeling,  has  no  moral  quality  whatsoever. 
Mill's  opponents  (^e.g.,  Martineau,  see  Types  of  Ethical  Theory, 
p.  274)  use  the  words  in  the  same  sense  as  he  does.  For  the 
further  discussion  of  the  question  raised  in  the  text,  and  of  other 
difficulties  that  rise  out  of  it,  see  Green,  op.  cit..  Book  IV.,  ch.  i.  init. 


Ch.  I]  The   Object  of  Moral  Judgment  6i 

mutandis,  to  the  relation  between  will  and  motive.  Since 
motive  is  the  idea  of  the  wider  object  desired,  and  since 
the  object  desired  depends  upon  the  character  of  the 
self  that  desires,  the  same  may  be  said  of  the  motive. 
This  is  sometimes  expressed  by  saying  that  a  man  "con- 
stitutes "  his  own  motive.  And  this  is  true  in  the  sense 
that  the  motive  is  not  to  be  conceived  of  as  external 
to  the  will,  or  as  something  that  acts  upon  or  appeals 
to  it  from  without.  The  mind  and  will  of  a  man  are 
already  expressed  in  his  motives,  so  that  in  being  deter- 
mined by  them  he  is  in  strict  sense  determined  by  himself. 
Hence  we  may  pass  from  judgment  on  a  man's  conduct 
and  character  to  judgment  upon  his  motive,  for  in  doing 
so  we  do  not  pass  from  judgment  upon  will  to  judgment 
upon  something  foreign  to  it.  In  judging  a  man's  motive 
to  be  bad,  we  pass  condemnation  on  the  character  or 
habit  of  will  for  being  such  that  this  could  be  a  motive 
to  it. 

§  25.    Summary 

Returning  from  the  discussion  of  these  difificulties,  we 
may  sum  up  the  conclusions  arrived  at  in  this  chapter,  so 
far  as  they  are  important  for  our  main  investigation.  The 
object  of  moral  judgment  is  Conduct,  i.e.  voluntary  action. 
1  he  Volition,  or  act  of  Will,  which  is  the  distinctive  mark 
of  conduct,  may  be  defined  as  the  movement  of  the  Self 
towards  the  realisation  of  an  object,  conceived  of,  as  a  state 
of  its  own  being,  as  well-being  or  as  good.  Judgment 
on  conduct  may  therefore,  with  equal  justice,  be  said 
to  be  judgment  upon  will,  or  upon  the  self  which  is 
expressed  in  the  act  of  will.  As,  moreover.  Character, 
properly  understood,  is  simply  the  general  habit  of  will 
determining  it  in  its  particular  actions,  moral  judgments 


62  Ethics  [Bk  II 

attach  with  equal  propriety  to  character.  Finally,  the 
Motive  of  an  action  is  not,  as  commonly  supposed,  the 
feeling  (which,  though  undoubtedly  present  in  every  act 
of  will,  has  as  feeling  no  moral  quality),  but  the  idea 
of  the  object  in  which  the  self  is  moved  to  look  for 
satisfaction.  Hence,  as  organically  related  to  the  self 
(being,  in  fact,  only  possible  as  a  motive  to  a  self  of  such 
and  such  a  character),  the  motive  is  also  with  justice 
regarded  as  a  proper  object  of  Moral  Judgment. 


Ch.  II]  The  Standard  as  Law  63 


CHAPTER   II 

THE    STANDARD    OF    MORAL    JUDGMENT MORAL    LAW 

§  26.     The  Tw^o  General  Forms  of  Moral  Judgment 

If,  in  seeking  for  the  standard  of  moral  judgment,  we 
start  with  an  analysis  of  its  form,  we  perceive  at  once 
that  this  is  two-fold.  On  the  one  hand  we  speak  of 
conduct  as  "right"  or  "wrong,"  and  on  the  other  as 
"good  "  or  "bad."  And  these  two  forms  seem  to  imply 
different  standards.  Looked  at  from  the  side  of  its  ety- 
mology, right  is  connected  with  Lat.  ;rr///j-==" straight" 
or  "according  to  rule.'''  Similarly  the  word  in  Cireek 
most  nearly  corresponding  to  right,  zltKy;  (Dike),  with  the 
adj.  StKatos  (dikaios)  and  the  adv.  StKvjv  (dikt'n  =  in  early 
Greek  simply  "  according  to  rule  "),  is  connected  with  the 
root  die,  to  point  or  direct.  On  the  other  hand,  good, 
Germ.^;//,  is  connected  with  the  xooX.  gafh,  found  in  Gr. 
dya^o's  (agathos),  and  meaning  serviceable  or  valuable 
for  an  end. 

Similarly  we  have  a  circle  of  words  referring  to  the 
phenomena  of  the  moral  life,  and  bearing  obvious 
affinity  to  one  or  other  of  these  fundamental  ideas. 
On  the  one  hand  we  have  the  vocabulary  of  right:  e.g., 
"  duty,"  that  which  is  owed  or  which  we  are  bound  to  do; 


64  Ethics  [Bk.  ii 

"obligation,"  that  which  binds  us;  "ought,"  or  owed; 
"responsibility,"  or  answerableness,  as  before  a  legal 
tribunal,  etc.  On  the  other  hand  we  have  the  vocabu- 
lary of  goodness  or  fitness  for  an  end:  e.g.,  in  "virtue," 
the  quality  of  fitness  in  a  man,  corresponding  to  Gr. 
aptrr]  (arete),  from  root  ar,  found  in  apapta-Kw  (ararisco), 
to  fit  or  join  together;  "  worth,"  or  value  for  an  end,  etc. 

§  27.    Which  of  these  is  Prior? 

There  thus  seem  to  be  two  standards,  or  at  any  rate 
two  different  ways  of  conceiving  of  the  same  standard, 
that  of  a  law  and  that  of  an  end;  and  the  question  may 
be  raised.  Which  of  these  is  prior,  and  what  is  their 
relation  to  one  another?  The  answer  is  that  while  the 
conception  of  end,  as  we  shall  hereafter  see,  is  prior  in 
importance,  being  that  on  which  the  other  rests,  yet 
the  conception  of  law  comes  first  in  time.  Whether 
we  look  at  the  individual  or  the  nation,  we  find  that 
the  earliest  idea  of  morality  is  of  a  species  of  conduct 
which  is  imposed  upon  us  by  a  law.*  Thus  each  of  us, 
at  his  first  introduction  into  the  world,  finds  himself  in 
the  presence  of  a  law  which  he  is  conscious  he  did  not 
make,  and  which  seems  to  require  from  him  an  uncon- 

*  This,  of  course,  does  not  prevent  us  from  admitting  that  at 
the  outset  moral  and  political  laws  must  have  been  recognised  as 
serving  some  social  utility.  C/>.  Green's  Prolegomena  to  Ethics, 
Book  III.,  ch.  iii. :  "There  is  an  idea  which  equally  underlies  the 
conception  both  of  moral  duty  and  of  legal  right;  which  is  prior,  so 
to  speak,  to  the  distinction  between  them;  which  must  have  been 
at  work  in  the  minds  of  men  before  they  could  be  capable  of  recog- 
nising any  kind  of  action  as  one  that  ought  to  be  done.  .  .  .  This  is 
the  idea  of  a  common  good."  This  is  true  even  of  religious  prac- 
tices.    Their  claim  to  respect  must  in  the  tirst  inetauce  have  been 


Ch.  II]  The  Standard  as  Law  65 

ditional  obedience.  The  same  is  true  of  nations.  The 
first  idea  of  morality  is  of  obedience  to  law.  Nor  is 
this  idea  confined  to  the  primitive  stages  in  a  nation's 
development.  Probably  the  prevalent  idea  among  the 
vast  majority  of  the  inhabitants  of  civilised  countries,  at 
the  present  day,  is  that  morality  consists  in  doing  what 
is  right,  or  what  is  in  accordance  with  a  law  laid  down 
for  human  guidance  by  a  Superior  Will.  Now  while,  as 
we  shall  see,  there  is  a  sense  in  which  morality  consists 
in  obedience  to  an  authoritative  law,  yet 'our  first  step 
must  be  to  examine  this  popular  notion  as  an  account  of 
the  ultimate  nature  of  the  standard  of  moral  judgment. 

§  28.    Three  Stages  in  Reflective  Analysis 

In  doing  so  we  shall  find  that  there  are  three  clearly 
marked  stages  of  reflective  analysis,  representing  respec- 
tively the  degree  in  which  the  human  mind,  in  reflecting 
upon  the  contents  of  morality,  has  been  able  to  rest  sat- 
isfied with  this  primitive  conception.  ( i )  In  more  primi- 
tive times,  and  among  individuals  at  a  later  stage  of 
development  who  have  not  outgrown  primitive  notions, 
the  law  is  conceived  of  as  external.  (2)  At  a  later 
period,  when  reflection  has  shown  this  notion  to  be  un- 
tenable, it  is  sought  to  supplement  the  defects  of  the 

their  serviceableness.  Cp.  Sir  Alfred  Lyall's  Asiatic  Studies,  p.  56 : 
"  It  will  almost  always  be  found  that  they  [religious  practices] 
are  really  founded  upon  some  selfish  material  interests,  and  are 
not,  as  they  are  usually  supposed  to  be,  merely  whimsical  super- 
stitions as  to  what  will  please  the  gods  or  as  to  what  is  right  and 
proper."  But  it  remains  true  that  this  origin  is  very  soon  forgotten  : 
the  law  becomes,  as  it  were,  fossilised,  and,  resisting  the  forces  that 
might  have  adapted  it  to  new  circumstances,  is  handed  down  aa  an 
Uuchangeable  system  of  divinely  given  uoiumanduieuts. 


66  Ethics 


[Bk.  II 


traditional  code,  and  to  free  the  individual  from  bondage 
to  an  external  authority,  by  appealing  to  the  internal  law 
of  conscience.  (3)  While  at  a  later  stage  still  these 
two  forms  of  "legal  "  morality  come  to  be  recognised  by 
reflection  as  unable  to  bear  the  light  of  criticism,  and 
give  way  to  a  new  conception  altogether,  whereby  the 
law  is  seen  to  be  related  to  an  end,  which  as  intrinsically 
good  and  desirable  determines  ultimately  our  judgments 
of  good  and  bad,  and  through  them  of  right  and  wrong. 
We  cannot  do  better,  at  this  stage  in  our  analysis,  than 
avail  ourselves  of  the  help  afforded  by  observing  the 
course  which,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  man's  reflections  on 
the  nature  and  contents  of  the  moral  law  have  tended  to 
take. 

§  29.     (1)  Morality  as  Obedience  to  External  Law 

The  defects  revealed  by  reflection,  when  it  comes 
to  react  upon  merely  traditional  codes  which  are  con- 
ceived of  as  "given,"  are  chiefly  these:  — 

{a)  Such  codes  are  found  to  contain  elements  which, 
though  they  are  commonly  regarded  as  of  co-ordinate 
authority,  are  clearly  of  unequal  importance.  Thus  cere- 
monial are  bound  up  with  moral  injunctions,  moral  and 
religious  with  political.  A  notable  example  of  the 
former  confusion  and  its  subsequent  correction  is  to  be 
found  in  the  history  of  the  Jews.  The  burdensome 
ceremonial  legislation  which  had  been  insisted  upon  by 
the  traditionalist  as  of  equal  importance  and  sustained 
by  the  same  authority  as  the  moral*  begins  in  the  time 
of  Amos  and  Hosea,t  through  the  force  of  altered  cir- 

*  An  interesting  survival  is  to  be  found  in  our  own  time  in  the 
Fourth  Commandment. 

t  See  Amos  v.  21  foil.;   viii.  5  foil.;   Rosea  vi.  6, 


Ch.  II]  The  Standard  as  Law  67 

cumstances  and  a  higher  and  more  reflective  moral  feel- 
ing, to  be  recognised  as  a  matter  of  quite  secondary 
importance,  if  not  entirely  irrelevant,  to  morality.  In 
the  teaching  of  the  New  Testament,  as  is  well  known, 
the  ceremonial  has  dropped  entirely  away.  As  an  exam- 
ple of  the  way  in  which  political  duties  may  come  to 
be  recognised  as  distinct  from  and  subordinate  to  moral, 
and  religious  duties,  we  have  the  Greek  drama  of  Antigone. 
Its  interest  to  the  moral  philosopher*  lies  in  the  fact  that 
it  marks  the  recognition  by  the  writer,  and  the  Athenian 
people  whom  he  addresses,  of  the  inadequacy  of  a  merely 
traditional  and  aphoristic  code  to  meet  the  varied 
demands  of  the  moral  life.  In  individual  life  it  is  un- 
necessary to  illustrate  the  distress  which  the  conflict 
between  a  moral  command  and  political  or  paternal 
authority  frequently  creates  in  persons  to  whom  moral 
duty  has  been  presented  solely  or  chiefly  in  the  form  of  a 
system  of  external  rules. 

{b)  But  the  conflict  is  not  confined  to  elements  so 
obviously  distinct  as  the  ceremonial  or  political  and  the 
moral.  Within  the  laws  recognised  as  moral,  contradic- 
tions necessarily  rise.  The  commandment  "Thou  shalt 
not  steal  "  may  come  into  conflict  with  the  commandment 
"Thou  shalt  do  no  murder,"  f  "Thou  shalt  not  lie  "  with 
"Thou  shalt  do  no  injury  to  a  fellow-creature."  The 
practical  needs  of  life  are  sufficient  to  reveal  this  defect 
in  traditional  morality,  though  conscious  reflection 
is  not  slow  to  follow  and  emphasise  the  unconscious 
criticism  of  changing  circumstances.  Thus  the  in- 
dustrial   changes    in   Athens   had    already    sapped   the 

*  See  Caird's  //i'^d-/ (Blackwood),  p.  6;  ]fi\)h\  Antigone,  Introd., 
p.  xxi. 

t  See  Plato's  Republic,  §  331  and  whole  passage. 


68  Ethics  [Bk.  ii 

traditional  code,   before  the    criticism  of  the  sophists 
came  to  assist  and  accelerate  its  disintegration. 

There  are  two  ways  in  which  the  would-be  conser\'ators 
of  a  traditional  code  may,  under  these  circumstances,  en- 
deavour to  meet  the  difificulty.  They  may  try  to  stretch 
the  code  so  as  to  make  it  co-extensive  with  life.  In  other 
words,  by  inventing  a  system  of  explanations  and  excep- 
tions they  may  attempt  the  impossible  task  of  making 
their  code  cover  every  possible  case.  This  is  the  reductio 
ad  absurdum  of  the  notion  that  morality  can  consist  in 
obedience  to  an  external  law.  It  was  the  mode  adopted 
by  the  clergy  of  the  middle  ages  in  reference  to  the 
ecclesiastical  code.  It  resulted  in  the  development  of 
that  system  of  Casuistry  which  has  fallen  into  such 
deserved  disrepute.  Another  way  is  to  seek  for  one 
chief  commandment  among  many  lesser  ones.*  Thus 
the  doubts  and  dii^culties  of  the  faithful  were  settled 
in  the  Christian  Church  by  advancing  the  doctrine  of 
Passive  Obedience,  according  to  which  the  supreme 
duty  was  implicitly  to  accept  the  decisions  of  king 
and  pontiff  as  the  oracles  of  God.  The  demand  for 
such  a  commandment  springs  from  a  truer  instinct, — 

*  On  a  celebrated  occasion  when  the  question,  "  Which  is  the 
great  commandment?"  was  raised,  the  misunderstanding  it  involved 
was  shown  by  the  selection  in  reply  of  one  that  could  not  by  its 
very  nature  be  a  commandment  at  all,  being  a  direction  to  feel,  not 
to  act.  In  reality  the  answer  went  beyond  the  idea  of  law,  and  sub- 
stituted for  it  a  principle  of  action.  It  expressed  this  principle  in 
subjective  terms  of  feeling  (love),  but  other  passages  show  that  it 
was  conceived  also  in  terms  of  an  objective  end.  It  was  "  the 
Kingdom  of  God  "  which  "  is  within  you."  The  distinction  between 
Rule  and  Rational  End  corresponds  to  that  betv,'een  "  the  Law  "  and 
"  the  Gospel,"  between  the  ten  words  and  the  good  word  or  the  word 
about  the  Good. 


Ch.  II]  The  Standard  as  Lata  69 

the  instinct,  namely,  to  seek  a  principle  of  unity  which 
will  introduce  order  and  subordination  into  the  multi- 
plicity of  the  traditional  code.  So  far  it  is  right.  It  is 
wrong  in  that  the  principle  that  is  sought  is  still  an 
external  one.  It  unifies  by  suppressing  and  destroying^ 
not  by  co-ordinating  and  vitalising  the  parts.  In  this 
way  the  doctrine  just  referred  to  meant  in  this  country 
the  suppression  of  the  inward  witness  of  conscience 
against  untruth  and  injustice  in  favour  of  the  duty  of 
obedience  to  the  powers  that  be.  Or,  to  take  another 
example,  the  golden  rule  that  we  should  love  our 
neighbour  as  ourselves  has  been  referred  to  in  the  above 
note  as  a  principle  of  conduct  rather  than  a  command- 
ment. But  it  has  frequently  been  interpreted  by  devout 
Christians  in  the  latter  sense,  and  in  this  case  it  obvi- 
ously leaves  room  for  conflict  and  contradiction  between 
its  terms.  Thus  I  have  heard  it  seriously  argued  that  it 
only  commands  us  to  love  our  neighbour  as  ourselves, 
the  implication  being  that  when,  as  often  happens,  a 
conflict  arises  between  our  own  and  our  neighbour's  ad- 
vantage, we  require  a  further  guide.  The  answer  which 
is  merely  authoritative  is  in  favour  of  one  side  or 
the  other,  and  settles  the  dispute  by  making  an  arbitrary 
selection  of  one  of  two  apparently  contradictory  maxims. 
The  discovery,  on  the  other  hand,  of  a  principle  which 
will  mediate  between  them,  and  give  each  its  place  in 
an  organic  system  of  duties,  is  the  problem  of  rational 
ethics. 

{c)  A  further  difficulty  is  raised  by  reflection  upon  the 
nature  of  the  moral  life  itself.  If,  as  appears  according 
to  the  view  we  are  considering,  this  consists  in  obedience 
to  a  law  which  is  merely  "given,"  it  does  not  require 
much  insight  to  see  that,  however  august  the  authority 


7° 


Ethics  [Bk.  II 


upon  which  it  rests,*  this  authority  itself  can  only  be 
grounded  on  a  force  majeure.  In  other  words,  the  in- 
terest which  man  takes  in  it  can  only  be  an  indirect  one, 
having  been  made  artificially  to  attach  to  it  by  means  of 
threatened  punishments  and  promised  rewards.  But 
what  is  this  but  the  destruction  of  morality  itself?  For 
whatever  else  morality  may  be,  it  is  universally  acknowl- 
edged by  all  who  reflect  upon  it  to  be  something  more 
than  slavish  submission  to  a  superior  will  on  the  ground 
of  its  superior  power. 

§  30.     (2)  The  Law  as  Internal— Conscience 

These  difficulties  it  has  been  sought  to  meet  by  rep- 
resenting the  standard  of  moral  judgment  under  another 
form.  The  law,  it  has  been  said,  that  constrains  us  in 
the  field  of  conduct  is  not  really  the  external  law  at  all, 
or  this  only  in  so  far  as  it  finds  a  response  in  the  inner 
law  of  conscience.  It  is  this  inner  law  that  is  the 
authoritative  court  of  appeal.  The  external  law  may 
contain  irrelevant  matter,  and  enjoin  at  times  contra- 
dictory lines  of  conduct;  but  we  are  not  left  without  an 
inward  witness  and  guide,  that  is  sufficient  for  all  emer- 
gencies, and  is  the  ultimate  standard  and  test  of  moral 
judgments. 

We  must  therefore  examine,  in  the  second  place,  the 
claim  of  conscience  to  be  ultimate  and  supreme.  And 
first  we  shall  have  to  ask  more  particularly  what  is  here 
meant  by  conscience. 

By  conscience   is  here  meant  the  intuitive  faculty  of 

*  To  the  Greek,  Themis  (Law)  was  the  daughter  of  Uranos 
(Heaven).  The  Jews,  as  is  well  known,  traced  their  moral  code  to 
the  legislation  of  Sinai. 


Ch.  II]  Tlie  Standard  as  Law  71 

moral  judgment,  with  the  characteristic  feeling  that 
accompanies  its  exercise,  {a)  It  is  claimed  that  it 
is  intuitive,  i.e.,  it  does  not  arrive  at  its  results  through 
any  process  of  reasoning,  but  acts  immediately.  Acts 
of  fraud  and  cowardice  are  condemned  instinctively; 
acts  of  truthfulness,  courage,  temperance,  are  as  instinc- 
tively approved.  {Ji)  It  is  said  to  be  underived.  It 
cannot  be  analysed  into  simpler  elements,  being  an 
ultimate' fact  of  human  nature.  Hence  the  peculiar 
authority  of  its  judgments,  which  command  our  allegiance 
irrespective  of  all  secondary  considerations,  such  as 
interest  or  pleasure,  (r)  It  is  universal.  It  is  found 
among  all  races,  the  lowest  as  well  as  the  highest, 
and  among  all  ages  and  classes.  By  this  it  is  not,  of 
course,  meant  that  it  is  found  among  these  in  an  equally 
developed  form,  any  more  than  is  the  faculty  of  dis- 
criminating colours,  or  of  reasoning;  but  that  whatever 
development  the  faculty  may  or  may  not  subsequently 
undergo,  it  is  innate  in  just  the  same  sense  as  are  the 
faculties  of  sight  and  hearing,  and  just  as  universal  as 
these  are  in  all  normally  constituted  human  beings. 

§  31.    Mistaken  Objection  to  Intuitionalist  View 

In  criticising  this,  which  is  known  as  the  Intuitionalist 
view  of  the  standard  of  moral  judgment,  it  is  important 
not  to  mistake  our  ground.  Thus  we  must  put  aside  as 
irrelevant  an  argument  that  is  frequently  brought  against 
it,  viz.,  that  the  judgments  of  conscience  do  not  possess 
that  easily  recognisable  character  which  this  theory 
attributes  to  them.  They  may  easily  be  mistaken,  it  is 
argued,  for  various  less  dignified  judgments  and  feelings. 
Thus  conscience  is  frequently  not  distinguishable  from 


72  Ethics  [Bk.  II 

mere  sense  of  propriety,  reverence  for  custom,  or  fear  of 
committing  an  offence  against  etiquette,*  But  this  does 
not  seem  to  be  true.  An  appeal  to  consciousness  seems 
to  reveal  a  clearly  distinguishable  line  of  demarcation 
between  the  two  phenomena,  failure  to  distinguish 
which  is  as  much  a  matter  of  intellectual  as  of  moral 
obtuseness.f 

There  are,  however,  insurmountable  difficulties  in 
accepting  this  theory  as  a  final  account  of  the  standard 
of  moral  judgment,  and  these  I  must  now  proceed  to 
state.  As  a  preliminary  it  is  necessary  to  go  a  step 
further  than  I  have  hitherto  done  in  the  analysis  of 
conscience. 

§  ;52.    Elements  in  Conscience 

It  is  clear,  when  we  reflect  upon  it,  that  conscience 
involves  at  least  two  distinguishable  elements,  (a)  There 
is  an  intellectual  element.  Conscience  is  a  faculty  of 
judgment.  Nor  is  this  judgment  merely  logical.  It  is  not 
merely  a  judgment  of  fact.  It  is  also  judicial.  It  is  a 
judgment  upon  fact.  This  judicial  attitude  of  conscience 
is  a  prominent  characteristic  of  it.     Conscience  in  its 

*  "  You  ride  using  another  man's  season  ticket,  or  you  tell  a 
white  lie,  or  speak  an  unkind  word,  and  conscience,  if  a  little  used  to 
such  things,  never  winces.  But  you  bow  to  the  wrong  man  in  the 
street,  or  you  mispronounce  a  word,  or  you  tip  over  a  glass  of  water, 
and  then  you  agonise  about  your  shortcoming  all  day  long;  yes, 
from  time  to  time  for  weeks.  Such  an  impartial  judge  is  the  feeling 
of  what  you  ought  to  have  done." — Royce's  Religious  Aspect  of 
Philosophy,  pp.  53,  54. 

t  The  case,  of  course,  of  survivals  such  as  that  mentioned  p.  74  «., 
in  which  what  has  come  to  be  a  mere  convention  is  still  mistaken 
for  a  moral  obligation,  is  different. 


Ch.  ii]  The  Sfandafd  as  Law  73 

usual  manifestations  seems  to  be  engaged  in  a  species 
of  judicial  investigation.  Older  writers  delighte'l  in 
this  metaphor,  which  they  worked  out  to  show  that,  as 
common  language  seems  to  imply,  conscience  is  at  once 
lawgiver,  accuser,  witness,  and  judge.  Conscience,  it  is 
said,  "commands,"  conscience  "accuses,"  conscience 
"bears  witness,"  conscience  "acquits"  or  "condemns." 
They  might  have  added,  as  we  shall  immediately  see, 
that  it  is  also  executioner,  seeing  that  it  punishes  with 
"  stings  "  peculiar  to  it.  So  prominent  is  this  element 
of  judgment,  that  by  some  it  has  been  held  to  be  its 
chief  or  only  one.  It  is  thought  to  be  in  a  peculiar 
sense  the  voice  of  reason,  and  has  been  elevated  into 
the  position  of  a  special  faculty,  which  under  the  name 
of  the  moral  faculty,  or  the  faculty  of  moral  judgment, 
had  a  prominent  place  assigned  to  it  in  the  older 
text-books.  {I))  It  is  clear,  however,  that  this  is  not 
the  only  element,  or  perhaps  the  most  distinctive.  It 
is  as  involving  a  characteristic  feeling  that  the  judg- 
ments of  conscience  come  most  home  to  us.  This  is 
especially  marked,  as  is  to  be  expected,  in  judgments 
upon  past  conduct, — the  feeling  of  remorse,  as  is  well 
known,  being  one  of  the  most  violent  of  human  emo- 
tions. Hence  some  writers  have  gone  to  the  opposite 
extreme  from  those  who  would  exclude  feeling  altogether, 
and  claimed  for  conscience  that  it  is  wholly  a  matter  of 
emotion.*  This  view  seems  to  gain  some  support  from 
popular  language,  which  substitutes  "moral  sentiment" 
and  "moral  feeling"  for  conscience,  and  endows  them 

*  "The  approbation  of  praise  and  blame  cannot,"  says  Hume 
(^Inquiry  concerning  Principles  of  Morals,  §  i),  "  be  the  work  of 
judgment,  but  of  the  heart,  and  is  not  a  speculative  proposition  or 
affirmation,  but  an  active  feeling  or  sentiment."  Cp.  Professor 
Knight's  Hume,  B.,  ch.  vi.  (Blackwood). 


74  Ethics  [Bk.  ii 

with  all  the  judicial  attributes  which  we  have  seen  to 
belong  to  the  latter. .  That  this  view  involves  the  in- 
accurate use  of  language  is  obvious,  inasmuch  as  feeling 
may  emphasise  and,  in  the  metaphorical  sense  referred 
to  above,  give  effect  to  the  judgments  of  conscience,  but 
as  feeling  it  is  dumb  and  cannot  pronounce  them. 
Nevertheless  the  side  of  the  phenomena  of  conscience 
which  is  here  emphasised  is  a  true  and  important  one.* 


§  33.     Defects  of    Conscience  as  Ultimate  Standard 

{a)  The  elements  of  feeling  and  judgment  may  stand 
in  contradiction  to  one  another.  Returning  once  more  to 
the  criticism  of  the  Intuitionalist  theory,  we  may  state 
the  first  difificulty  thus:  So  long  as  the  two  elements 
of  conscience  just  described  are  in  harmony  with  one 
another, — so  long,  that  is,  as  the  appropriate  feeling 
accompanies  the  intellectual  approval  or  condemnation 
of  an  act, — little  practical  difificulty  may  arise  in  the 
conduct  of  life.  But  suppose,  as  is  frequently  the  case, 
that  reason  approves  of  a  line  of  conduct  which  yet,  on 
being  chosen,  is  accompanied  by  a  feeling  bearing  a  close 
resemblance  to  remorse.  How  are  we  to  explain  such 
a  conflict?  and  which  of  the  conflicting  elements  must 
we  follow?!  Psychologically,  the  explanation  is  simple 
enough.     It  is  that  feeling  is  the  conservative  element 

*  On  the  general  subject  of  conscience,  see  below,  pp.  220  full., 
and  authorities  there  cited. 

t  The  reader  will  supply  instances  for  himself.  The  contradiction 
between  reason  and  feeling  which  some  of  us  will  recollect,  when 
first  we  permitted  ourselves  to  take  a  row  or  attend  a  concert  on 
Sunday,  is  a  good  example  from  contemporary  life. 


Ch.  II]  The  Standard  as  Law  75 

in  human  life.  In  the  present  case  it  continues  to  attach 
to  certain  lines  of  conduct  in  the  form  of  remorse,  or,  as 
we  say,  "qualms"  of  conscience,  even  after  reason,  the 
radical  and  revolutionary  element  in  life,  has  pronounced 
in  their  favour  as  morally  innocent.*  The  ethical  ques- 
tion, however,  still  remains.  Which  of  these  elements  has 
the  more  authoritative  claim  upon  us?  Whatever  our 
answer  to  this  may  be  (whether  we  take  our  stand  upon 
the  instinctive  feeling,  or  upon  the  rational  judgment), 
we  shall  have  to  go  further,  and  seek  for  a  reason  for 
our  preference  in  the  ultimate  nature  of  conscience,  i.e., 
we  shall  have  to  seek  a  standard  of  judgment  as  between 
the  elements  of  conscience  itself. 

{b')  Relativity  of  judgments.  But  secondly,  within  the 
field  of  the  element  of  conscience  which  we  described 
as  judgment,  serious  difficulties  present  themselves. 
What,  it  may  be  asked,  are  these  judgments?  The 
common  answer  is,  that  they  represent  the  generally 
recognised  principles  of  right  and  wrong:  as  that  lying, 
cheating,  unchastity  are  to  be  reprobated;  truthfulness, 
honesty,  temperance  are  subjects  of  approbation.  In 
other  words,  it  is  the  "middle  axioms"!  which  are 
intuitively  discerned.  But  if  this  is  so,  what  becomes 
of  the  universality  which  we  saw  above  is  claimed  on 
behalf  of  the  judgments  of  conscience?  Instead  of  the 
universal  agreement  on  the  main  lines  of  moral  obliga- 
tion which  the  theory  demands,  we  find  a  perfect  chaos 

*  Another  instance  is  the  feeUng  that  continues  to  keep  us  attached 
to  institutions  after  we  know  them  to  be  useless,  or  to  individuals 
after  they  have  ceased  to  merit  our  regard. 

t  What  Aristotle  calls  the  major  premise  of  the  practical  syllo- 
gism :  All  lying  is  wrong;  the  completed  argument  being  this  would 
be  a  lie,  therefore  this  is  wrong. 


^6  Ethics  [Bk.  II 

of  contradictory  principles  at  various  times  and  in  various 
places,*  and  the  standard  of  right  and  wrong  is  still  to 
seek. 

If  it  be  sought  to  meet  this  difficulty  by  giving  a  dif- 
ferent answer  to  our  question,  and  maintaining  with 
some  that  "  though  undoubtedly  men  differ  in  different 
ages  and  countries  as  to  what  they  judge  to  be  right 
and  wrong,  yet  they  are  all  agreed  as  to  the  fact  that 
there  is  a  right  and  a  wrong,  and  this  is  what  is  de- 
clared to  be  innate,"  this  is  to  give  up  the  whole  position. 
For  it  amounts  to  the  assertion  that  we  know  intuitively 
that  there  is  a  standard,  but  that  intuition  is  helpless  to 
tell  us  what  the  standard  is. 

If,  finally,  it  be  said  that  what  is  intuitively  appre- 
hended is  not  right  and  wrong  as  such,  but  the  true  end 
of  human  life,  we  have  passed  to  a  new  theory  altogether. 
We  have  passed  from  the  theory  that  the  standard  of 
moral  judgment  is  ultimately  to  be  conceived  of  as  a  Law, 
and  we  have  substituted  for  it  a  theory  of  the  End.  In 
this  form  Intuitionalism  can  no  longer  maintain  itself 
as  an  independent  theory.  For  whatever  end  we  suppose 
thus  to  be  intuitively  revealed,  the  task  of  ethics  is  still 
before  us,  viz.,  to  show  that  moral  judgments  do  not  rest 
on  a  number  of  isolated  intuitions,  but  are  organically 
related  to  an  end  or  good.  On  the  other  hand,  on  any 
theory  of  the  end,  we  may  very  well  admit  that  its 
worthiness  is  intuitively  discerned,  in  the  sense  that  it  is 
the  necessary  postulate  of  morality,  and  is  not  in  the  last 
resort  susceptible  of  other  proof. 

(r)  The  authority  of  tlie  law  still  external.   In  discussing 

*  See  the  classical  proof  that  there  are  "  no  innate  practical 
principles." — Locke's  Essay  concerning  Human  Understandittg, 
Book  I.,  ch.  iii.,  and  Book  V.,  ch.  ii.,  below. 


Ch.  iij  TJie  Standard  as  Law  77 

the  conception  of  morality  as  obedience  to  external  law, 
we  saw  that  difficulties  rose,  not  only  from  the  demand 
forced  upon  us,  both  practically  and  theoretically,  to 
find  some  principle  of  unity  in  the  particular  injunctions 
of  which  it  consists,  but  also  from  the  consideration 
of  the  nature  of  its  authority.  If  the  law  is  merely 
external,  it  can  only  be  recognised  by  man  in  virtue 
of  its  sanctions,  that  is,  the  pains  and  penalties  which 
are  decreed  by  another  as  the  price  of  disobedience; 
and  this  was  seen  to  be  the  destruction  of  morality, 
and  the  substitution  for  it  of  a  long-sighted  prudence. 
To  meet  this  objection  it  was  suggested  that  the  law 
is  not  merely  external,  but  is  the  voice  of  conscience. 
I'his  led  us  into  some  account  of  conscience,  with  the 
result  that  its  injunctions  have  been  seen  to  lie  just  as 
much  outside  one  another  as  those  of  external  law,  and 
therefore  leave  us  with  our  explanation  or  principle  of 
unity  still  to  seek. 

We  have  now,  therefore,  to  ask,  in  the  third  place,  with 
reference  to  the  authority  of  the  law  on  the  intuitional 
theory,  whether  it  has  really  been  made  internal  by 
being  called  the  law  of  conscience?  To  be  "internal" 
in  the  sense  demanded,  the  law  must  be  seen  to  be  really 
our  own,  not  merely  the  law  of  some  part  of  us.  If  it  is 
the  law  of  a  part  only,  it  is  still  external  to  the  self,  and 
obedience  to  it  on  the  part  of  the  self  is,  after  all, 
obedience  to  something  which  is  external.  Our  question, 
therefore,  resolves  itself  into  this :  Is  conscience,  on  this 
theory,  the  name  for  the  whole  self,  judging  and  feeling 
in  a  particular  way,  or  is  it  only  a  part,  connected  indeed 
with  the  self  in  that  it  inhabits  the  same  body,  yet  to  all 
intents  and  purposes  a  stranger  there  ? 

Now  our  final  objection  to  the  theory  that  we  must 


78  Ethics  [Bk.  II 

rest  content  in  ethics  with  the  intuitions  of  conscience 
is  that,  as  commonly  maintained,  //  leaves  the  law  still 
external  in  the  sense  just  explained.  Conscience  is  not 
explained,  as  on  any  true  theory  it  must  be,  as  the  self 
judging  of  its  own  acts,*  but  (as  the  very  phraseology  of 
the  intuitional  theory  implies)  as  a  special  faculty.  It  is 
the  "Faculty  of  Moral  Judgment," — an  innate  and  inex- 
plicable power  of  moral  discrimination,  sitting  apart  from 
the  rest  of  human  consciousness,  like  the  priestess  in  the 
oracle  at  Delphi,  and  authoritatively  imposing  its  decrees 
upon  the  human  will.  The  whole  conception  may  easily 
be  shown  in  psychology!  to  be  contrary  to  the  teaching 
of  science;  it  is  now  seen  to  contradict  the  presupposi- 
tion implied  in  the  whole  vocabulary  of  moral  praise  and 
blame,  viz.,  that  morality  is  free  obedience  to  a  self- 
imposed  law. 

§  34.     (3)  Morality  as  determined  by  End 

It  is  indeed  possible  to  correct  this  theory  so  as  to 
meet  the  demand  made  upon  it  in  the  last  paragraph. 
It  may  be  said  that  conscience  is  the  whole  or  true  self 
claiming  to  legislate  for  the  parts.  Its  claim  is  the  claim 
of  the  self,  as  a  conscious  and  rational  being,  to  judge 
any  particular  manifestation  of  itself  in  voluntary  action. 
Its  voice  is  the  voice  of  the  true  self,  or  of  the  self  as  a 
whole,  which,  as  addressed  to  the  false  or  partial  self  of 
particular  desires  and  passions,  rightfully  assumes  the 
tone  of  command,  and  has  built  up  in  connection  with 

*  See  below,  p.  220. 

t  The  human  mind  cannot  be  treated,  as  in  the  older  text-books, 
as  an  aggregate  of  "  faculties."  The  elements  of  mind,  viz.,  feeling, 
thought,  will,  etc.,  are  related  to  one  another  in  a  closer  and  more 
organic  way  than  this  mode  of  conceiving  them  represents. 


Ch.  II]  The  Standai'd  as  Lmv  79 

the  varied  circumstances  and  desires  of  life  that  system 
of  authoritative  commandments  known  as  the  moral  law. 
Morality  consists  in  obeying  this  voice.  Man's  freedom 
just  means  his  power  of  being  moral,  i.e.,  of  obeying  the 
imperative  of  reason  or  of  his  true  self.  But,  in  making 
this  correction,  it  is  clear  that  we  have  passed  beyond  the 
conception  of  the  standard  as  Law,  and  substituted  in 
its  place  the  idea  of  an  End.  There  is  indeed  a  moral 
lata  vihich  is  authoritative  and  supreme;  but  it  is  now 
seen  to  be  so  not  by  indefeasible  right  of  its  own,  but 
in  virtue  of  its  relation  to  the  true  self,  as  the  End  which 
man,  qua  man,  seeks  to  realise. 

The  following  books  will  be  occupied  with  the  further 
definition  of  the  end  which  is  the  standard  of  moral 
judgment.  Meantime  we  may  conclude  this  part  of  the 
discussion  by  noting  some  of  the  general  characteristics 
of  this  end,  as  these  flow  from  the  conclusions  already 
reached,  and  may  prove  useful  as  tests  both  of  current 
theories  about  it  and  of  the  view  hereafter  to  be  set 
forth. 

§  35.    General  Characteristics  of  the  End  * 

(i)  It  is  important  to  observe  that  we  are  dealing  in 
ethics  with  a  conscious  being,  to  whom  the  end  is  a  pos- 
sible object  of  desire.  Hence  ethics  is  a  teleological  as 
opposed  to  empirical  science.  It  deals  with  a  final 
cause  or  consciously  conceived  purpose,  not  merely  with 
an  efficient  cause  or  general  tendency  of  things.  Closelv 
connected  with  ethics,  and  liable  to  be  confused  with  it, 
there  ic  the  science  of  biological  evolution,  which  shows 

*  The  remaining  portion  of  this  chapter  is  not  essential  to  the 
main  argument,  and  may  be  here  omitted  by  the  student  who  desires 
to  follow  closely  in  its  track. 


8o  Ethics  [Bk.  II 

how  efficient  causes  have  been  at  work  in  bringing  human 
consciousness  to  the  birth  as  the  soil  out  of  which  mo- 
rality springs.  But  it  is  a  mistake  to  refuse,  as  is  fre- 
quently done,  to  recognise  that  in  passing  from  biology  to 
ethics  we  are  passing  from  an  empirical  to  a  teleological 
science.  The  mistake  is  made  possible  by  the  fact  that 
there  is  a  sense  in  which  biology  is  also  teleological,  in 
that  it  deals  with  the  tendency  of  organisms  to  adapt 
themselves  to  environment;  and  thus,  through  the  law 
of  natural  selection,  tc  develop  forms  of  life  which  tve, 
with  a  reference  to  the  end  of  consciousness  and  social 
life,  call  higher.  But  there  is  an  important  difference 
between  the  end  with  which  biology  and  the  end  with 
which  ethics  and  politics  deal;  viz.,  that  in  the  one  case 
it  is  worked  out  by  beings  who  are  unconscious  of  it;  in 
the  other  it  is  an  end  which  is  consciously  conceived. 
To  overlook  this  distinction,  and  to  attempt  to  solve 
ethical  problems  by  the  methods  of  empirical  science,  is 
one  of  the  chief  causes  of  confusion  in  working  out  the 
doctrine  of  the  end. 

(2)  That  it  is  a  good,  and  a/<?;-^^«a/good,  follows  from 
the  fact  that  it  is  a  consciously  conceived  end.  As  such 
it  is  an  object  of  desire,  and,  as  we  have  already  seen, 
"object  of  desire  "  and  "personal  good  "  are  equivalent 
terms.*  This  must  not,  of  course,  be  taken  to  mean 
that  the  end  is  necessarily  self-interest.  We  shall  have 
abundant  occasion  hereafter  to  deal  with  this  fallacy. f 
Meantime,  it  is  sufficient  to  warn  the  student  against 
confusing  two  totally  different  things,  viz.,  personal 
good  and  personal  advantage.     Whatever  the  end  may 

*    Qiiidquid  petitur  petiinr  sub  specie  boni. 

t  In  addition  to  what  will  hereafter  be  said,  see  the  excellent 
treatment,  Dewey,  op.  cit.,  §  xxxv.,  and  the  authorities  there  cited. 


Ch.  II]  The  Standard  as  Law  8i 

be — whether  happiness,  or  duty,  or  perfection — it  can 
only  become  an  object  of  choice  to  us  in  so  far  as  it  is 
recognised  as  desirable,  i.e.,  a  personal  good,  or  good 
for  us.  The  difference  between  a  selfish  and  unselfish 
theory  of  ethics  is  not  that  on  the  former  the  end  is 
conceived  as  personal,  on  the  latter  as  impersonal  good, 
or  as  no  good  to  the  self  at  all.  The  difference  lies  in 
the  account  which  they  severally  give  of  the  nature  and 
contents  of  the  personal  good. 

(3)  It  further  follows  from  the  fact  that,  as  has  been 
shown  above,  it  is  the  end  of  the  self  as  a  whole,  that  it 
is  intrinsically  good.  It  is  good  in  itself,  not  as  a  means 
towards  any  further  good.  Other  ends,  such  as  health, 
wealth,  learning,  are  goods  of  the  self  under  particular 
aspects :  as  a  physical  being,  as  wealth-producing,  truth- 
seeking,  and  hence  are  contributions  or  means  to  a 
further  good.  The  end  of  man,  as  man,  cannot  con- 
tribute to  anything  liigher.*  Hence  it  cannot  consist 
of  anything  which  does  not  possess  interest  for  man, 
as  that  in  realising  which  he  will  find  his  personal 
good.  It  cannot,  for  instance,  be  mere  obedience  to 
the  will  of  God.  Such  obedience  cannot  in  itself  be 
an  object  of  interest  or  desire.  Those  who  represent 
obedience  to  the  will  of  God  as  the  supreme  duty 
do  not  suppose  that  it  can.  They  tacitly  assume  that 
man's  chief  end  is  his  own  happiness,  and  that  this 
will  best  be  secured  in  this  world  and  the  next  by 
the  course  of  conduct  they  recommend.  The  view 
really  undermines  morality  by  substituting  for  it  a 
long-sighted  prudence.  It  is  accordingly  a  true  in- 
tuition which  makes  the  higher  moral  feeling  of   the 

*  Cp.  Aristotle's  account  of  the  end  as  self-sufficing  (^Nic.  Ethics,  I.) . 


82  Ethics  [Bk.  II 

Church  now  insist  that  the  relation  of  God  to  man  is 
not  that  of  a  master  imposing  a  law  upon  his  servant, 
but  that  of  a  father  to  his  children:  the  essence  of  the 
latter  as  opposed  to  the  former  being  that  a  father 
recognises  that  his  claim  upon  the  obedience  of  his 
children  rests  upon  the  reasonableness  of  the  law,  as 
enjoining  conduct  which  is  for  their  good. 

(4)  It  is  only  stating  the  fact  of  its  intrinsic  goodness 
in  another  way  to  say  that  the  end  is  summum  bo  num. 
But  we  must  be  careful  not  to  mistake  the  meaning 
of  the  expression.  It  does  not  mean  that  the  good 
can  be  conceived  of  in  any  sense  as  a  sum  of  particular 
goods  or  satisfactions.  Human  life  does  not  consist 
of  a  number  of  activities,  each  directed  from  moment 
to  moment  towards  the  satisfaction  of  a  separate  desire. 
It  does  not  require  much  reflection  to  discover  that  our 
daily  life,  so  far  as  we  are  intelligent  beings,  does  not 
consist  in  the  pursuit  of  a  number  of  isolated  equally 
important  ends,  but  is  a  system  of  ends,  each  of  which 
is  more  or  less  consciously  subordinated  to  one  beyond 
it,  until,  in  the  case  of  a  "consistent"  life,*  we  finally 
trace  them  all  up  to  the  aim,  purpose,  or  final  end  of  our 
lives.  In  a  like  sense,  the  good  for  self,  as  such,  is  not  a 
mere  sum  of  isolated  satisfactions,  but  is  the  final  end  in 
reference  to  which  all  others  have  their  place  and  value 
assigned  to  them. 

At  the  same  time  we  have  to  avoid  the  mistake  of 
thinking  of  the  good  as  though  it  were  the  satisfaction 
of  some  supreme  or  highest  principle  distinct  from  and 
tyrannising  over  the  desires.     The  supremacy  which  it 

*  On  the  other  hand,  one  of  the  most  charming  characteristics 
of  children  and  of  non-moral  beings  is  that  all  their  ends  are 
equally  important, 


Ch.  II]  The  Standard  as  Lata  83 

exercises  is  not,  so  to  speak,  exercised  in  its  own  interest 
as  separate  from  the  interests  of  the  particular  desires. 
"  Reason,"  says  Aristotle,  "  rules  the  desires  like  a  consti- 
tutional statesman,"  i.e.,  as  their  representative,  and  for 
the  good  of  the  whole,  not  for  its  own  good  as  having  an 
interest  separate  from  theirs.  In  other  words,  the  self  is 
not  something  different  from  human  desires,  with  sepa- 
rate interests  of  its  own,  but  is  these  desires  organically 
related  to  one  another  in  a  system  or  whole.  It  is,  on 
the  one  hand,  made  up  of  them,  varying  from  moment 
to  moment  as  one  or  other  of  these  is  dominant;  on  the 
other  hand,  it  is  the  principle  of  unity  which  expresses 
itself  in  them,  dominating  them  and  bringing  them  into 
that  unity  which  we  call  personality.  It  is  nothing 
apart  from  the  desires  and  activities  which  it  unifies; 
these,  on  the  other  hand,  would  be  mere  blind  instincts  of 
propensities  apart  from  that  principle  or  organic  relation 
through  which  they  become  a  self.  Hence  the  good  of 
the  self  or  whole,  while  it  is  more  than  the  good  of  any 
of  the  particular  parts  or  desires,  cannot  be  secured, 
except  through  the  relative  satisfaction  of  each  of  them.* 

*  The  conception  of  the  Summum  Bonum  as  a  harmony  or  equi- 
librium of  the  elements  of  human  nature  cemes  to  us  from  Plato.  It 
may  be  contrasted,  on  the  one  hand,  with  the  Hedonists'  view,  which 
makes  good  consist  in  a  sum  of  satisfactions,  and,  on  the  other,  with 
Kant's,  which  makes  it  consist  in  satisfying  the  demands  of  reason, 
regardless  of  desire.  Recently  it  has  been  worked  out  with  much 
skill  by  Mr.  Alexander  in  the  first  part  of  his  Moral  Order  and 
Progress.  It  is,  however,  a  mistake  to  suppose,  as  Mr.  Alexander 
seems  to  do,  that  mere  formal  equilibrium  of  function,  apart  from 
the  satisfaction  of  the  self  of  which  it  is  the  condition,  can  ever  of 
itself  be  the  end. 


Ethics  [Bk.  II 


§  36.    These  Characteristics  of  the   Moral  End  the  Basis 
of  commonly  recognised  Attributes  of  the  Moral  Law 

These  characteristics  of  the  end  explain  the  peculiari- 
ties which  are  commonly  recognised  as  distinctive  of 
moral  law.  So  long  as  we  interpret  moral  judgment  as 
merely  a  judgment  of  conformity  to  law,  it  is,  as  we 
have  seen,*  inexplicable.  Hence  we  were  forced  to 
conclude  that  such  judgments,  while  prior  in  time  to 
those  of  value,  as  being  the  form  under  which  we  first 
make  acquaintance  with  morality,  are  later  in  ethical 
importance.  On  the  other  hand,  to  depose  the  idea 
of  moral  law  from  its  logical  pre-eminence  is  not  to 
cancel  its  practical  claims;  to  explain  the  law  by 
showing  that  its  utterances  have  reference  to  an  end,  as 
the  principle  of  unity  which  underlies  them,  is  not  to 
explain  it  away.  On  the  contrary,  it  is  to  establish  the 
law  in  possession  of  its  traditional  attributes,  by  showing 
the  reason  of  its  claim  to  them.  Thus,  in  showing  that 
the  end  is  supreme,  we  have  established  the  supremacy 
of  the  law  of  which  in  practice  it  is  the  source,  as  other 
ends  {e.g.,  correct  reasoning)  are  the  source  of  the  prac- 
tical maxims  that  flow  from  them  {e.g.,  the  rules  of 
logic).  On  the  same  ground  we  may  claim  that  the  law 
is  absolute  or  "categorical."  As  the  end  is  one  which 
man,  as  man,  is  called  upon  to  realise,  it  carries  with  it 
a  law  or  maxim  from  which  there  is  no  escape,  the  law, 
namely,  of    which  all  other  moral  laws  are   only  the 

*  Pp.  69,  70,  where  we  saw  that  this  interpretation  involved  us 
in  contradictions,  by  requiring  us  to  uaake  imorality  a  meaue  to  a 
further  end. 


Ch.  II]  The  Standard  as  Law  85 

particularised  expression — "Be  a  man."*  Finally,  we 
may  claim  to  have  established  its  dignity  as  a  "  law  of 
liberty  "  by  showing  that  it  is  not  imposed  from  with- 
out, but  flows  from  the  conception  of  an  end  which  is 
self-imposed  and  intrinsically  good. f 

*  Hegel's  well-known  formula  is,  "  Be  a  person,"  to  which,  as  we 
shall  hereafter  see,  "  and  respect  others  as  persons  "  is  a  necessary 
addition. 

t  For  the  practical  value  of  moral  rules  as  "  tools  of  analysis,"  see 
Dewey,  op.  cit.,  pp.  203  foil. 


BOOK    III 

THEORIES    OF   THE   END 


CHAPTER   I 

THE    END   AS    PLEASURE 

§  37.    Problera  arising'  out  of  Results  hitherto  reached 

Returning  to  the  point  we  reached  in  examining  the 
proposal  to  make  conscience  the  ultimate  standard  of 
moral  judgment,  we  may  now  state  the  problem  which 
will  occupy  us  in  the  immediately  succeeding  chapters. 

We  there  found  that  the  moral  judgments  implied  in 
the  utterances  of  conscience  are  only  intelligible  as  the 
judgments  of  a  self  which,  as  the  principle  of  unity 
among  the  particular  desires,  and  more  than  any  one  of 
them,  claims  to  sit  in  judgment  upon  them,  and  demands 
that  they  shall  each  and  all  give  way  when,  as  may  fre- 
quently happen,  their  satisfaction  is  incompatible  with  its 
own.  The  Satisfaction  or,  as  we  provisionally  expressed 
it,  the  Realisation  of  this  Self  is  thus  the  end  which  is 
the  standard  of  moral  judgment. 

If  now  we  proceed  to  inquire  more  closely  into  the 
nature  and  definition  of  this,  end,  it  is  at  once  obvious 
that  our  conclusions  will  depend  upon  the  conception 
we  entertain  of  the  nature  of  the  self  which  is  to  be 
satisfied  or  realised.  For  there  are  different  elements 
in  the  self,  and  according  to  our  view  of  the  relation  of 
these  to  one  another  will  be  our  notion  of  the  nature  of  the 


90  Ethics  [Bk.  hi 

self  as  a  whole.  Thus,  there  is  an  obvious  distinction, 
which  the  earliest  psychologists  were  not  slow  to  note, 
between  Thought  and  Feeling, — between  the  active 
powers  of  thought  and  reason  on  the  one  side,  and  the 
passive  element  of  feeling  which  comes  and  goes  with 
the  varied  experiences  of  the  self  on  the  other.  A  ques- 
tion, therefore,  at  once  arose,  traceable  in  the  very  dawn 
of  philosophy.  Which  of  these  elements  constitutes  the 
true  nature  of  the  self?  Is  feeling  the  primary  and 
essential  element,  reason  having  for  its  function  in  the 
last  resort  only  to  administer  to  the  satisfaction  of  a 
feeling  or  emotional  self?  or  is  reason  the  vital  con- 
stituent in  its  composition,  while  feeling  is  only  a  tran- 
sient effect  playing  upon  its  surface?  In  accordance 
as  one  or  other  of  these  alternatives  has  been  accepted, 
throughout  the  history  of  philosophy,  is  the  view  that 
has  been  taken  of  the  ethical  end.  If  the  self  is 
par  excellence  a  feeling  self,  its  summum  bonum,  it  has 
been  argued,  must  be  a  state  of  feeling;  if  it  is  par 
excellence  reason,  the  end  must  be  some  form  of  rational 
activity. 

The  examination,  of  these  two  historic  theories 
will  be  of  use  in  helping  us  to  a  truer  one,  by  teaching 
us  to  benefit  by  the  truth  and  avoid  the  mistakes  of 
each. 

The  more  important,  because  the  more  common,  is  the 
first,  which  will  accordingly  occupy  the  main  portion  of 
this,  the  critical  part  of  our  investigation.  Stated  in  its 
simplest  terms,  it  is  the  view  that  the  end  is  the  agreeable 
state  of  feeling  which  we  call  Pleasure. 


Ch.  I]  The  End  as  Pleasure  91 

§  38.     What   is    meant    by    saying    that   the    Standard    of 
Moral  Judgment  is  Pleasure 

By  this  theory  in  its  simplest  form  it  is  meant  that 
conduct  has  value  in  proportion  to  the  amount  of 
pleasure  it  produces.  One  line  of  conduct  is  good  rel- 
atively to  another  which,  when  it  is  possible  to  produce 
less,  produces  more  pleasure;  that  is  bad  which,  it  be- 
ing possible  to  produce  more,  produces  less  pleasure. 

There  is  no  difference  in  motive,  according  to  this 
theory, — all  men  being  moved  alike  by  the  one  motive, 
desire  for  pleasure.  The  difference  is  in  the  amount 
of  pleasure  which,  owing  to  insight  into  the  conditions 
of  happiness  and  their  previous  moral  training,  their 
actions  tend  to  secure.  Thus,  the  intemperate  man  is 
reprehensible,  not  because  he  pursues  his  own  pleasure, — 
we  all  not  only  do  that,  but  we  cannot  do  anything  else, 
— but  because  he  habitually  chooses  courses  of  action 
which  involve  to  himself,  his  family,  and  to  society  at 
large,  an  amount  of  pain  far  exceeding  the  pleasure  which 
the  momentary  indulgence  gives  to  himself.  When  it 
is  possible  for  him  to  create  a  balance  of  pleasure  by 
restraining  himself,  he  has  done  the  reverse  and  created 
a  balance  of  pain.  Similarly  the  liar  gains  immediate 
pleasure  or  advantage, — so  far  his  act  is  good, — but  the 
pain  and  disadvantage  ensuing  to  society,  in  increased 
suspicion,  mutual  distrust,  impaired  credit,  etc.,  far  out- 
weigh the  pleasure,  and  the  conduct  must  accordingly 
be  stamped  as  bad.  The  worst  conduct  is  that  which 
under  the  circumstances  yields — or,  since  there  are  many 
counteracting  circumstances,  tends  to  yield — the  least 
possible  amount  of  happiness.  That  conduct,  on  the 
other  hand,  is  best  which  tends  to  produce  the  greatest 
sum-total  of  pleasure. 


92  Ethics  [Bk.  Ill 

§  39.    Ancient  Forms  of  the  Theory 

This  theory  of  the  end,  in  a  more  or  less  fully 
developed  form,  has,  as  is  well  known,  played  an  im- 
portant part  in  the  history  of  ethical  thought.  It 
made  its  appearance  in  the  early  morning  of  philos- 
ophy. The  teaching  of  Socrates,  whose  influence, 
like  that  of  Christ,  was  rather  due  to  his  life  and 
character,  than  to  any  system  of  doctrine  which  he 
propounded,  contained  a  number  of  elements  loosely 
held  together.  Upon  his  death  these  fell  apart,  as  did 
the  different  elements  in  Christian  doctrine,*  and  were 
taken  up  by  different  groups  of  his  followers,  and  made 
the  basis  of  different  theories  of  the  end  of  life.  One  of 
these  groups  seized  upon  the  element  of  feeling,  and 
under  the  name  of  the  Cyrenaicsf  (from  the  city  of 
Cyrene,  to  which  Aristippus,  the  chief  exponent  of  the 
doctrine,  belonged),  became  the  precursors  of  the  later 
and  better-known  school  of  Epicureans.  They  held 
that  pleasure  was  the  end,  interpreting  this  to  mean 
the  pleasure  of  the  moment,  and  using  the  theory  as 
little  more  than  an  excuse  for  self-indulgence. 

At  a  later  time  the  theory  was  taken  up  by  Epicurus,  | 
who  deepened  and  dignified  it  (i)  by  connecting  it  with 
the  atomic  theory  of  the  nature  and  origin  of  matter 
as  expounded  by  Leucippus  and  Democritus,  (2)  sup- 
plementing it  with  a  sensationalist  psychology,  and 
(3)  interpreting  pleasure  so  as  to  include  the  higher 
social  and  intellectual   enjoyments.     The  noble  expres- 

*  E.g.,   Faith  and  Works  as  represented  respectively   by  Paul 
and  James,  Universalism  and  Judaism  by  Paul  and  Peter. 
t  See  Zeller's  Socrates  and  Socratic  Schools. 
\  See  Cicero's  De  Finibus,  Book  I.,  c.  5-21  (Bohn's  Library). 


Ch.  I]  The  End  as  Pleasure  93 

sion  which  was  given  to  this  theory  of  the  nature  of 
the  world  and  human  life  by  the  greatest  of  the  Roman 
poets,  Lucretius,*  is  well  known. 

§  40.     The  Theory  in  Modern  Times 

The  doctrine  has  been  revived  in  modern  times  chiefly 
by  English  thinkers,  who  differ  from  their  predecessors 
in  antiquity  (i)  in  seeking  to  provide  it  with  a  securer 
basis  in  philosophy  and  psychology,  (2)  in  enjoining  a 
more  reflective  form  of  pleasure-seeking,  (3)  in  making 
the  doctrine  the  starting-point  for  enlightened  theories 
of  social  and  political  reform.  The  discussion  of  the 
first  of  these  differences  belongs  to  a  text-book  of  psy- 
chology rather  than  of  ethics.  The  development  of  the 
theory  in  the  direction  indicated  by  the  third  difference 
coincides  generally  with  the  successive  appearance  of 
Egoistic,  Universalistic,  and  Evolutionary  Hedonism f  to 
be  discussed  below,  and  need  not  further  detain  us  here. 
The  second,  however,  requires  more  detailed  notice,  as 
it  introduces  us  to  a  development  which  is  characteristic 
of  the  modern  form  of  the  theory,  and  will  best  find  a 
place  at  the  point  at  which  we  have  now  arrived. 

§  41.    The  Sanctions  of  Morality- 
Ancient  Epicureanism,  while  emphasising  the  peace 
and  happiness  which  have  their  source  in  the  recognition 
of  the  universality  of  natural  law,  laid  but  little  stress  on 

*  See  De  Rei-nm  Nattira,  Eng.  Tr.  (Munro). 

t  For  the  name  see  below  (p.  96).  Besides  the  Bibliography, 
p.  238,  see,  for  the  history  of  modern  Hedonism,  Courtney's 
Constrnclive  Ethics,  Sidgvvick's  History  of  Ethics,  and  Sorley's 
Ethics  of  N^aturalism. 


94  Ethics  [Bk.  hi 

the  physical  consequences  of  conduct  as  a  motive  to 
morality.  As  the  doctrine,  moreover,  was  developed  at  a 
time  when  the  older  forms  of  pagan  society  were  breaking 
up,  and  men  were  seeking  satisfaction  for  their  deeper 
longings  in  a  species  of  spiritual  individualism,  it  laid 
but  little  emphasis  on  social  approval  as  a  source  of 
happiness,  or  social  disapproval  as  a  source  of  pain. 
Finally,  as  it  was  a  fundamental  article  of  the  creed  of 
the  Epicurean  that  the  gods,  if  there  were  any,  took  no 
interest  in  human  a"ffairs,  and  that  man's  life  ended  with 
the  grave,  it  was  impossible  to  appeal  to  the  rewards 
and  punishments  of  another  life  as  a  motive  for  good 
conduct  in  this.  In  modern  times,  however,  the  keener 
sense  of  the  relation  between  cause  and  effect  in  the 
physical  plane,  the  increased  sensitiveness  to  public 
opinion  resulting  from  greater  social  solidarity,  together 
with  the  habits  of  thought  encouraged  by  the  common 
form  of  the  Christian  religion,  suggest  reasons  for  the 
conduct  commonly  called  moral,  which  the  supporters  of 
Hedonism  .have  not  been  slow  to  seize  upon  and  develop. 
These  reasons  or  persuasives  to  good  conduct  are  the 
so-called  "sanctions  of  morality,"  the  enumeration  of 
which  is  a  characteristic  addition  to  the  modern  form  of 
the  pleasure  theory. 

By  the  sanction  of  a  legal  enactment  is  meant  the 
penalty  that  is  annexed  to  the  infringement  of  it.  In 
ethics,  as  just  explained,  the  meaning  is  extended  to 
include  the  pleasures  which  are  the  persuasives  to  con- 
formity, as  well  as  the  pains  which  act  as  deterrents  from 
disobedience  to  moral  law.  The  sanctions  of  morality 
in  this  sense  are  mainly  five:  (i)  There  is  the  natural 
sanction,  by  which  are  meant  the  physical  pains  which 
follow  upon  the  disregard  of  natural  laws,  e.g.,  in  the 


Ch.  t]  The  End  as  Pleasure  95 

over-indulgence  of  the  appetites.  (2)  There  is  the 
political  sanction,  or  the  pains  and  penalties  attached  by 
law  to  such  obviously  "unfelicific  "  forms  of  conduct  as 
theft,  assault,  libel,  etc.,  and  the  public  rewards  and 
honours  bestowed  upon  the  social  benefactor.  (3) 
There  is  the  social  sanction, — the  pleasures  of  social  re- 
spect, gratitude,  etc.,  which  a  favourable  public  opinion 
brings  with  it,  and  the  pains  of  the  disgrace  attach- 
ing to  forms  of  immoral  conduct,  which  do  not  come 
within  the  reach  of  the  law  as  well  as  to  those  that  do. 
(4)  There  is  the  religious  sanction.  Though  this  does 
not  belong  to  the  catalogue  of  legitimate  motives  on  a 
naturalistic  theory  of  ethics  like  ordinary  Hedonism,  yet 
in  speaking  of  the  sanctions  or  external  persuasives  to 
morality  founded  on  the  desire  for  pleasure  and  aversion 
to  pain,  it  is  necessary  to  take  account  of  the  influence 
which  fear  of  punishment  and  hope  of  reward  in  another 
life  have  exercised,  and  still  continue  to  exercise,  in  the 
moral  education  of  the  race  and  the  individual.  (5) 
To  these  is  added,  as  a  fifth,  the  moral  sanction,  by 
which  is  meant  simply  the  pleasures  of  a  good  conscience 
and  the  pains  of  remorse.* 

We  shall  have  occasion  hereafter  to  discuss  at. length 
the  presuppositions  on  which  the  whole  theory  is 
founded.  Meantime  it  is  sufficient  to  point  out  that 
to  any  but  the  Hedonist  the  phrase  "sanctions  of 
morality  "  is  suspiciously  like  a  contradiction  in  terms. 
Conduct  which  issues  from  regard  for  these  sanctions  is 
not  morality,   if  by  that   we    mean   conduct  which    is 

*  For  the  theory  of  the  sanctions  of  morality,  see  Bentham's 
Morals  and  Legislation,  ch.  iii.;  Mill's  Utilitarianis7n,  ch.  iii.; 
Sidgwick's  Methods  of  Ethics,  Book  II.,  ch.  v.;  Fowler's  Pro- 
gressi'oe  Morality,  chs.  i.,  ii. 


96  Ethics  [Bk.  Ill 

morally  approved.  It  may  conform  to  a  certain  type 
and  be  externally  indistinguishable  from  good  conduct, 
but  it  is  not  good.  The  man  who  is  temperate  because 
he  desires  the  pleasures  of  temperance  (whether  these 
be  earthly  or  heavenly,  physical  or  social)  is,  as  Plato 
pointed  out,  temperate  by  reason  of  a  kind  of  intem- 
perance. Similarly,  the  man  who  is  courageous  from 
fear  of  the  pains  which  will  be  the  consequence  of 
cowardice  is  courageous  by  reason  of  a  kind  of  cowardice. 
Appeals  to  the  so-called  moral  sanction,  i.e.,  to  the 
pleasures  of  a  good  conscience  (or  the  pains  of  remorse), 
as  a  motive  to  good  conduct,  appear,  moreover,  to 
involve  an  additional  absurdity.  The  pleasure  in  ques- 
tion depends  upon  the  approval  of  conscience,  and  this 
in  turn  depends  on  the  disinterestedness  of  the  conduct, 
i.e.,  upon  the  exclusion  of  the  idea  of  personal  pleasure 
from  the  motive.  To  point  therefore  to  the  pleasure 
likely  to  result  from  such  approval,  as  a  reason  for  well- 
doing, is  to  suggest  a  motive  which,  if  accepted,  would 
render  approval  impossible. 

§  42.    Pleasure  and  Happiness 

Some  confusion  has  been  introduced  into  the  discus- 
sion of  this  theory  in  the  forms  under  which  we  now 
know  it  by  the  failure  to  distinguish  between  pleasure 
and  happiness.  Assuming  that  they  both  refer  to  a 
state  of  agreeable  feeling,  it  is  not  true,  as  is  commonly 
assumed,  either  that  the  terms  are  synonymous,  or  that, 
if  there  is  a  distinction,  happiness  is  only  pleasure 
raised  to  a  higher  power  by  an  arithmetical  process  of 
multiplication  or  addition.*     The  distinction  between 

*  In  thus  becoming  affiliated  with  pleasure,  happiness  seems, 
like  so  many  words,  to  have  come  down  in  the  world.    Certainly 


Ch.  I]  The  End  as  Pleasure  97 

them  is  founded  on  a  qualitative  difference  in  the 
modes  of  self-realisation  which  pleasure  and  happiness 
severally  accompany,  not  merely  on  a  quantitative 
difference  in  the  amount  of  the  feeling  itself.  Pleasure 
is  the  feeling  which  accompanies  the  satisfaction  of  par- 
ticular desires;  happiness  is  the  feeling  which  accom- 
panies the  sense  that,  apart  from  the  satisfaction  of 
momentary  desires,  and  even  in  spite  of  the  pain  of 
refusal  or  failure  to  satisfy  them,  the  self  as  a  whole 
is  being  realised.*  The  propriety  of  describing  the  end 
in  terms  of  either  depends  upon  the  conclusion  we  shall 
come  to  in  the  sequel  as  to  the  legitimacy  of  describing 
it  in  terms  of  feeling  at  all.  Meantime  I  may  so  far 
anticipate  as  to  point  out,  for  the  benefit  of  those  who 
may  prove  impervious  to  the  arguments  there  adduced, 
that  there  is  less  objection  to  expressing  the  good  in 
terms  of  happiness  than  in  terms  of  pleasure  pure  and 
simple.  For  while  both  descriptions  of  the  end  err  in 
identifying  it  with  agreeable  feeling,  the  happiness  theory 
(Eudaemonism)  has  the  advantage  over  the  pleasure 
theory  (Hedonism)  that  it  refuses  to  consider  the  sum- 
mum  bonum  as  a  mere  aggregate  of  particular  pleasures, 
and  insists  that  it  is  pleasure  for  the  self  as  a  whole. f 
For  the  benefit,  however,  of  those  who  are  determined 

the  Greeks  would  have  objected  to  the  assumption  which  underlies 
modern  Hedonism,  that  pleasure  and  happiness  are  interchangealile 
terms,  or  differ  only  as  the  less  from  the  greater.  To  them  ni]lov^ 
(h8don§=  pleasure)  conveyed  a  wholly  different  idea  from  ei)5ai/ioi'(a 
(eudaemonia=  happiness),  and  accordingly  Hedonism  would  have 
represented  a  wholly  different  theory  from  Eudaemonism. 

*  On  this  distinction  the  student  is  recommended  to  consult 
Dewey's  Psychology,  pp.  292-4. 

f  Which,  as  we  can  never  insist  too  often,  is  more  than  a  mere 
aggregate  of  its  parts. 


98  •  Ethics  [Bk.  hi 

at  all  hazards  to  express  the  end  in  terms  of  feeling,  it 
may  be  well  to  state  that  to  advance  a  step  further  and 
call  it  Blessedness,  which,  Carlyle  Sdij?,  {^Sartor Resartus, 
Book  II.,  ch.  ix.),  is  better  than  happiness,  is  less  mis- 
leading still.  Blessedness  may  be  defined  as  the  feeling 
of  pleasure  which  accompanies  modes  of  conduct  in 
which  an  existing  harmony  of  activities  is  sacrificed  to  a 
higher  conception  of  what  a  true  harmony  implies,  in 
other  words,  in  which  the  self  as  static  is  sacrificed  to 
the  self  as  progressive.  Seeing,  therefore,  that  man,  as 
man,  is  a  progressive  animal,  and  that  harmony  is  no 
sooner  established  between  himself  and  his  environment 
than  it  is  broken  into  by  aspirations  after  a  higher  form 
of  life,  the  theory  which  represents  the  emotional  re- 
action of  such  aspirations  and  the  activities  resulting 
from  them  as  the  end,  while  theoretically  not  less 
erroneous  than  that  which  defines  it  in  terms  of  any 
lower  form  of  feeling,  may  yet  by  reason  of  its  implicit 
admissions  be  less  practically  misleading. 


§  43.     Do  Pleasures  differ  in  Quality? 

A  difficulty  suggested  by  the  discussion  in  the  preced- 
ing paragraph  has  risen  within  the  school  itself  as  to 
whether  pleasures  differ  only  in  quantity,  or  in  quality 
as  well.  There  are  those  who  hold  that  pleasures  differ 
only  as  greater  or  less,  and  that,  in  estimating  the  com- 
parative value  of  two  or  more  lines  of  conduct,  we  have 
only  to  cast  up  the  arithmetical  total  of  the  pleasures 
which  they  severally  tend  to  produce.  .  Others  hold 
that  pleasures  differ  in  quality  as  well.  The  controversy 
carries  us  into  psychology,  in  which  field  the  answer  is 
seen  to  depend  on  considerations  already  set  forth  in  a 


Ch.  I]  The  End  as  Pleasure  99 

previous  section  (21),  where  it  was  pointed  out  that  it  is 
impossible  to  consider  feelings,  qua  feelings,  as  qualita- 
tively differing  from  one  another.  It  is  only  in  virtue 
of  the  qualitative  differences  of  the  objects  in  connection 
with  which  they  rise  that  we  are  justified  in  attributing 
moral  quality  to  them.  Thus,  on  the  hypothesis  that 
knowledge  is  a  higher  good  than  wealth  or  power,  the 
pleasure  of  acquiring  it  may  be  judged  to  be  higher 
than  that  of  gratified  vanity  or  ambition.  But  from  the 
Hedonist's  point  of  view  knowledge  can  only  be  judged 
a  higher  end  in  so  far  as  it  is  the  source  of  a  greater 
quantity  of  pleasure.  In  other  words,  the  qualitative 
differences  in  objects  are  reduced  to  quantitative  differ- 
ences in  the  feeling  of  pleasure  they  produce.  To 
introduce,  therefore,  into  the  pleasure  theory  qualitative 
differences  among  feelings  which  are  not  resolvable 
into  quantitative,  is  to  introduce  a  standard  of  higher 
or  lower  in  a  scale  of  relative  dignity  or  worth  not 
determinable  in  terms  of  greater  and  less.  It  is  to  go 
beyond  the  conception  of  self  as  a  subject  of  feeling, 
and  to  declare  that  there  is  another  standard  besides  the 
greater  or  less  agreeableness  of  its  experiences,  viz.,  their 
worthiness  as  experiences  of  a  being  who  is  more  than 
feeling,  and  may  have  higher  ends  than  pleasure.* 

§  44.    How  are  Pleasures  calculated  in  respect  to 
their  Value  ? 

For  those  Hedonists  who  hold  the  simpler  and  more 
logical  view  that  pleasures  differ  only  in  respect  to  quan- 
tity the  question  still  remains.  What  dimensions  must 

*  On  this  controversy  see  Mill's  statement  of  the  doctrine  that 
there  are  differenced  of  quality  among  pleasures,  Utilitariafiisin, 
p.  12  (loth  ed.,  1888),  and  the  criticisms  of  it  in  Kant's  Theory  of 


loo  Ethics  [Bk.  hi 

enter  into  the  calculation?  What  elements  enter  into 
the  "pleasure  calculus"?  We  calculate  the  size  of  a 
room  by  the  three  dimensions  of  length,  breadth,  and 
height.  A\'hat  are  the  dimensions  of  a  pleasure?  Jer- 
emy Bentham  was  at  pains  to  formulate  them  as  six, — 
intensity,  duration,  nearness,  certainty,  purity,  fruitful- 
ness.*  With  the  exception  of  the  two  last  these  explain 
themselves,  and  need  not  further  detain  us.  The  two 
last,  however,  require  a  word  of  explanation.  By  purity 
is  meant  not  any  moral  quality,  but  freedom  from 
accompanying  pain :  an  intellectual  pleasure  may  in  this 
respect  take  precedence  of  a  sensual,  on  the  ground  that 
it  does  not  involve  subsequent  pain,  as  the  latter  is  liable 
to  do.  By  the  fruitfulness  of  a  pleasure  is  meant  the  ten- 
dency to  bring  other  pleasures  with  it,  as  when  keeping 
an  engagement  involves  the  pleasures  of  a  good  con- 
science and  the  future  benefits  that  might  accrue  to  the 
good  character  for  reliableness  which  is  thus  acquired. f 

§  45.    Modern  Forms  of  the  Pleasure  Theory- 
Difficulties  of  a  still    more    fundamental   kind   arise 
when  we  ask  the  question,  "  Whose  pleasure  is  meant?  " 
Differences  on  this  head  have  given  rise  to  at  least  two 

Ethics  (Abbott),  p.  109  (4th  ed.);  Green,  <?/.  cit.,  Book  III.,  ch.  i., 
§§  162  foil.;  Bradley,  op.  cit.,  pp.  105  foil;  Dewey,  op.  cit.,  pp.  46 
foil.     Also  Alexander,  op.  cit.,  pp.  203  foil. 

*  See  Morals  and  Legislation,  ch.  iv.  The  seventh  of  the  dimen- 
sions he  enumerates,  viz.,  extent,  introduces  a  difficulty  excluded 
from  this  paragraph. 

f  The  arithmetic  of  pleasure  becomes  more  complicated  when  to 
the  pleasures  of  this  world  are  added  the  pleasures  of  the  next. 
Thus  Paley  gave  himself  a  longer  sum  by  trying  to  combine  the 
pleasure   theory  with  the  orthodox   Christianity  of  his  time.     His 


Ch.  I]  The  End  as  Pleasure  lOi 

different  forms  of  Hedonism.  Agreeing  in  the  psycho- 
logical doctrine  that  each  not  only  does,  but  must, 
pursue  what  at  the  time  appears  to  be  his  own  greatest 
pleasure,  supporters  of  the  pleasure  theory  have  still 
difl'ered  as  to  the  proper  mode  of  formulating  the  end 
which  is  the  standard  of  moral  action,  (i)  There  are 
those  who  maintain  that  the  end  of  rational  conduct  is 
no  other  than  the  pleasure  of  the  individual  himself. 
Moral  judgments  are  the  judgments  that  are  passed 
upon  conduct  according  as  it  is  adapted  to  secure  this 
end  in  the  highest  degree  possible  for  the  individual, 
or,  through  his  ignorance  or  folly,  fails  to  do  so.  This 
section  of  the  school  is  known  as  the  Individualistic  or 
Egoistic  Hedonists.*  (2)  There  is  Altruistic  or  Univer- 
salistic  Hedonism,!  which  takes  the  pleasure  of  others 
also  into  account.  It  is  important  to  note  the  precise 
point  in  which  this  differs  from  the  former  doctrine. 
It  does  not  differ  in  its  account  of  what  is  ultimately 
desirable.  It  agrees  that  this  is  pleasure.  It  merely 
introduces  a  new  element  into  the  pleasure  calculus.  In 
addition  to  the  dimensions  already  mentioned,  it  enumer- 
ates the  extent  of  the  pleasure  as  the  most  important 
consideration  of  all.  This,  it  need  hardly  be  pointed 
out,  makes  a  vital  difference;  for  whereas  upon  the 
former  view  his  own  pleasure  counts  to  the  individual  as 

naive  definition  of  virtue,  as  "  doing  good  to  mankind  in  obedience 
to  the  will  of  God  and  for  the  sake  of  everlasting  life,"  has  been 
wittily  said  to  combine  "  the  maximum  of  error  in  the  minimum  of 
space." 

*  Best  represented  in  modern  philosophy  by  Thomas  Hobbes. 

t  Represented  in  this  country  by  William  Godwin,  Bentham, 
James  Mill,  J.  S.  Mill,  and  Professor  Sidgwick  in  various  degrees 
and  in  divers  manners. 


I02  Ethics  [Bk.  Ill 

supreme,  and  that  of  others  is  only  sought  as  tributary 
thereto,  according  to  the  form  of  the  theory  now  under 
consideration,  and  familiar  to  every  one  under  the  more 
popular  name  of  Utilitarianism,  the  pretensions  of  the 
individual  sink  into  insignificance.  "Every  one  is  to 
count  for  one,  and  no  one  for  more  than  one."  The 
pleasure  which  is  the  standard  of  moral  judgment  is  not 
the  greatest  pleasure  of  the  individual,  but  the  "greatest 
pleasure  of  the  greatest  number,"  calculated  upon  the 
basis  of  the  equality  of  the  claims  of  all.* 

§  46.    Characteristic  Difficulties  in  these  several 
Forms  of  Hedonism 

(i)  Egoistic  Hedonism.  A  detailed  criticism  of  the 
pleasure  theory  in  its  two  chief  forms  is  beyond  the 
scope  of  the  present  handbook.!  It  must  here  be 
sufficient  to  refer  to  characteristic  difficulties  which 
attach  to  each. 

The    stumbling-block    in    the   way   of    the    Egoistic 

*  As  has  been  well  pointed  out  in  Green's  Proleg.  to  Ethics, 
Book  III.,  ch.  iii.,  §  214,  it  is  this  democratic  principle  which  has  been 
illogically  added  to  the  theory,  and  not  its  contention  that  the  end 
is  pleasure,  which  has  made  utilitarianism  so  effective  as  a  principle 
of  legislative  reform,  and,  it  may  be  added,  so  popular  as  a  prin- 
ciple of  individual  conduct. 

t  Besides  the  authorities  referred  to  (p.  238),  the  student  will  find 
exhaustive  discussion  of  the  Hedonistic  hypothesis  in  Green's 
Proleg.  to  Ethics,  Book  III.,  chs.  i.  and  iv.;  Book  IV.,  ch.  iv.; 
Alexander's  Moral  Order  and  Progress,  pp.  196  foil.;  J.  S. 
Mackenzie's  Introduction  to  Social  Philosophy,  pp.  202,  226; 
Dewey,  op.  cit.,  pp.  17  foil. — where  the  important  distinction  is 
made  between  "  pleasure  as  the  (only)  object  of  desire "  and 
"pleasure  as  criterion"  of  moral  value;  Bradley's  Ethical  Studies, 
Essays  III.  and  VII.;  Caird's  Critical  Philosophy  of  Kant,  Vol.  II., 
p.  229. 


Ch.  I]  The  End  as  Pleasure  103 

Hedonist,  over  which  he  has  always  tripped,  and  may 
now  be  said  to  have  fallen  to  rise  no  more,  is  the  obvious 
outrage  which  is  committed  against  the  moral  sentiments 
and  benevolent  impulses  by  the  attempt  to  explain  them 
as  modifications  of  the  selfish  desire  for  pleasure.  The 
attempt  may  be  made  to  do  so  either  directly,  as  by 
Hobbes  and  his  followers,*  who  sought  to  resolve  altruistic 
impulses,  such  as  those  of  compassion  and  benevolence, 
into  reflex  forms  of  personal  fear  or  hope;  or  indirectly, 
as  by  the  later  Hedonists,!  who  sought  by  means  of  the 
principle  of  the  Association  of  Ideas  to  explain  how 
virtue,  which  at  first  is  pursued  only  on  account  of  the  per- 
sonal pleasure  or  the  exemption  from  pain  which  it  se- 
cures, may  afterwards,  by  a  confusion  of  means  and  end, 
come  to  be  pursued  for  its  own  sake.  The  difficulty  of 
explaining  altruistic  conduct  upon  this  basis  has  led  the 
lineal  descendants  of  this  school  to  acknowledge,  besides 
the  egoistic,  the  altruistic  impulse  of  sympathy  as  a  co- 
ordinate principle  of  action.  J 

(2)  Universalisiic Hedonism.  Universalistic  Hedonism, 
or  Utilitarianism,  has  had  difficulties  of  its  own  to  contend 
with,  the  chief  being  to  explain  how,  on  the  presupposi- 
tion which  it  shares  with  the  former  view  that  his  own 
pleasure  is  the  only  object  that  any  one  can  desire,  it  is 

*  "  Self-love,"  says  Larochefoucauld,  "  lingers  with  strange  objects 
only  as  the  bees  with  the  flowers,  in  order  to  draw  from  them  what 
it  requires."  Quoted  by  Hoffding,  Outlines  of  Psychology,  Eng. 
Tr.,  p.  244. 

t  E.g.,  Hartley.     See  Observations  upon  Man,  Part  I.,  ch.  iv.,  §  4. 

X  The  attempt  made  by  evolutionary  writers  to  explain  egoistic 
and  sympathetic  feelings  as  developments  from  a  common  root  (see, 
e.g.,  Hoffding,  op.  cit.,  pp.  247  foil.)  does  not,  of  course,  alter  their 
qualitative  distinctness  in  their  fully  developed  forms. 


I04  Ethics  [Bk.  Ill 

possible  to  desire  the  greatest  happiness  of  the  greatest 
number.  The  difficulty  did  not  much  trouble  Bentham, 
the  father  of  Utilitarianism,  who  airily  explained  the 
phenomenon  of  his  own  undoubted  benevolence,  by  say- 
ing that  he  was  a  selfish  man,  "whose  selfishness  hap- 
pened to  have  taken  the  form  of  benevolence."  In  an- 
other passage  he  assigns  their  respective  places  to  egoism 
and  altruism  in  the  characteristic  saying  that "  self-regard 
alone  will  serve  for  diet,  though  sympathy  is  very 
good  for  desert."  His  successor,  J.  S.  Mill,  found 
this  a  tougher  knot.  He  tried  to  solve  it  by  the 
famous  argument  in  the  fourth  chapter  of  Uti/ifarianist?i  : 
"  No  reason  can  be  given  why  the  general  happiness 
is  desirable,  except  that  each  person  .  .  .  desires  his 
own  happiness.  .  .  .  Each  person's  happiness  is  a  good 
to  that  person,  and  the  general  happiness  therefore 
a  good  to  the  aggregate  of  all  persons."  This  is  as 
though  one  were  to  argue  (to  borrow  Carlyle's  famous 
comparison),  that  because  each  pig  desires  for  himself 
the  greatest  amount  of  a  limited  quantity  of  pigs' 
wash,  each  necessarily  desires  the  greatest  quantity  for 
every  other  or  for  all.*  Latter-day  utilitarians,  who  are 
naturally  dissatisfied  with  such  an  argument,  prefer  to 
renounce  the  dogma  that  personal  pleasure  is  the  one 
thing  desired,  and  so  are  free  to  maintain,  as  some  do,t 
that  we  ought  to  desire  universal  happiness  because 
Reason  bids  us.  The  ultimate  desirableness  of  the 
greatest  general  happiness  is  thus  made  to  rest  upon  the 
dictum  of  Reason.  But  what,  we  still  ask,  is  Reason? 
and  why  should  I  listen  to  her  voice?     The  theory  in 

*  Upon  which  ingenious  mode  of  argument  see  any  book  on 
logic  under  head  "  Fallacy  of  Composition." 

t  E.g.,  Professor  Sidgwick,  Methods  of  Ethics,  Book  III.,  ch.  xiii. 


Ch.  I]  The  End  as  Picas Ji re  105 

its   present   form    leaves   us   with  these   questions  un- 
answered.* 


§  47.    Elements  of  Value  in  Pleasure  Theory 

While  these  objections  seem  fatal  to  the  several  forms 
which  the  theory  has  taken,  it  ought  not  to  be  forgotten 
that  this  view  of  the  end  has  usually  had  to  maintain  itself 
against  equally  one-sided  theories,  and  is  thus  not  without 
value  as  a  protest  against  their  falsehood.  Thus  it  has 
always  been  opposed  to  the  theory,  to  be  dealt  with  in  the 
next  chapter,  which  invests  mere  resistance  to  desire  with 
peculiar  merit,  and  which  tends  to  emphasise  the  ascetic 
or  negative  element  in  the  moral  life  at  the  expense  of 
its  positive  side  as  a  form,  not  of  self-denial,  but  of  self- 
satisfaction  or  self-realisation.  Similarly,  in  the  field  of 
law  and  politics,  the  service  of  the  founders  of  utilita- 
rianism'at  the  beginning  of  the  present  century  to  legal 
and  political  reform  is  inestimable.  It  may  indeed  be 
questioned  f  how  far  Bentham,  Godwin,  Place,  Grote, 
Austin,  J.  S.  Mill,  were  inspired  by  the  Hedonistic,  as 
opposed  to  what  might  be  called  the  Democratic, 
elements  in  their  theory.  But  it  is  certain  that,  at  a  time 
when  other  theories  by  their  conservatism  and  mysticism 
seemed  to  favour  the  maintenance  of  established  abuses, 
the  Hedonistic  writers  brought  forward  an  apparently 
simple  and  intelligible  standard,  by  which  the  utility  of 
laws  and  institutions  might  be  estimated. 

*  See  the  criticism  of  this  view,  Green's  Prolegomena  to  Ethics, 
Book  IV.,  ch.  iv.,  §§  364  foil;  Bradley,  op.  cit.,  pp.  114- 117.  The 
answer  to  the  question  necessarily  leads  us  to  a  conception  of  the 
nature  of  the  self  as  essentially  rational.  But  this  annihilates  the 
presupposition  upon  which  the  Hedonistic  theory  rests  (see  p.  90). 

t  See  above,  p.  102  n. 


io6  Ethics  [Bk.  Ill 


§  48.    Fundamental  Error  of  the  Theory  based  on 
inadequate  Analysis  of  Desire 

The  error  of  the  theory,  in  what  has  been  called 
its  "psychological,"*  which  is  also  its  logical  form, 
consists  in  the  relative  functions  which  it  assigns 
to  reason  and  feeling  in  the  moral  life.  The  end 
which  is  the  standard  of  value  in  conduct  is  sup- 
posed to  be  given  immediately.  It  is  the  end,  not 
only  of  man,  but  of  all  sentient  creation.  "  All  sentient 
beings,"  it  is  said,  "desire  pleasure  by  a  law  of  their 
nature."  The  difference  between  rational  and  non- 
rational  beings  lies  not  in  the  character  of  the  object  of 
desire,  but  in  the  relative  degree  in  which  they  possess 
the  capacity  for  its  enjoyment  and  apprehend  the 
means  of  its  attainment.  Similarly,  among  beings 
nominally  rational,  differences  consist  in  the  relative 
perception  which  they  have  of  the  means  whereby  the 
greatest  sum-total  of  pleasure  may  be  realised.  In  other 
words,  the  function  of  reason  is  that  of  directing  and 
regulating  action  in  view  of  an  end  which  is  imme- 
diately given  by  feeling.  Reason  gives  no  end :  it 
merely  prescribes  the  means  to  the  attainment  of  one 
which,  on  appearing  upon  the  stage,  it  finds  already  uni- 
versal and  inevitable.  Accordingly,  the  rationality  or 
value  of  conduct  has  to  be  judged,  not  by  the  character 
of  its  end  or  object,   but  by  its  suitability  as  a  means 

*  The  form  which  it  takes  in  more  recent  writers  (see  p.  104 
fm.)  I  regard  as  transitional,  and  as  likely  to  be  merged  either  in 
evolutionary  hedonism  or  in  the  view  set  forth  in  these  pages.  It  is 
chiefly  important  at  the  present  time  as  having  received  the  support 
of  so  great  an  authority  as  Professor  Sidgwick. 


Ch.  I]  The  End  as  Pleasure  107 

towards  the  realisation  of  that  which  alone  has  value,  viz., 
agreeable  consciousness  or  pleasure. 

In  all  this  there  is  a  fundamental  misconception  as 
to  the  relation  of  thought  or  reason  to  desire,  which  our 
analysis  of  the  latter  has  already  furnished  us  with  the 
means  of  correcting.  We  have  already  seen  that  the  idea 
of  the  object  (in  the  example  we  employed,  the  idea  of 
warmth),  as  affording  satisfaction  to  the  self,  was  an 
essential  element  in  all  that  is  properly  called  desire. 
This  means  that  reason  does  not  simply  accept  the  object 
given  it  by  a  natural  impulse  or  propensity,  and  set  about 
devising  means  for  its  realisation.  It  would  be  truer  to 
say  that  it  makes  the  object,  inasmuch  as  there  can  be 
no  object  of  desire  without  it. 

Comparing  this  conclusion  with  the  view  under  con- 
sideration, we  see  (i)  that  an  "object  of  desire"  can 
only  exist  for  a  being  which  thinks  and  reasons  as  well 
as  feels,  and  that  it  is  an  abuse  of  language  to  say,  as 
the  Hedonist  has  done  from  time  immemorial,*  that  all 
sentient  beings  desire  pleasure.  (2)  The  rationality  or 
value  of  conduct  for  us  as  human  cannot,  it  is  now 
seen,  be  measured  by  the  extent  to  which  it  tends 
to  realise  an  object  given  irrespective  of  reason.  The 
question  is,  how  far  an  object  which,  ex  hypothesi,  is  a 
state  of  feeling,  can  satisfy  a  being  who  has  just  been 
shown  to  be  more  than  feeling.  Merely  to  put  this 
question  suggests  a  suspicion  of  the  unsatisfactoriness  of 
the  Hedonistic  answer.  We  saw  at  the  outset  that  this 
theory  was  based  upon  the  assumption  that  the  self  was 
primarily  and  essentially  Feeling.  When  this  is  shown  to 
be  groundless;  when,  in  the  mental  phenomenon  with 
which  we  have  in  ethics  primarily  to  deal,  viz.,  human 
*  See  Aristotle's  Ethics,  Book  X.,  ch.  ii. 


io8  Ethics  [Bk.  Ill 

desire,  it  is  seen  that  a  self  is  at  work  which  is  more  than 
feeling,  we  may  reasonably  doubt  whether  the  end,  which 
is  the  standard  of  the  judgments  of  value  we  pass  upon 
human  conduct,  can  be  a  form  of  feeling.  If,  as  we 
were  previously  led  to  believe,  the  end  is  the  realisation 
of  the  self  as  a  whole,  and  if,  as  we  now  see,  this  self  is 
more  than  feeling,  it  is  impossible  to  hold  that  it  can 
obtain  the  satisfaction  which  it  demands  in  what  is 
admittedly  a  mere  form  of  feeling. 

§  49.    Is  Pleasure  the  only  Motive  ?    Re-statement 
of  Hedonistic  Argument 

The  above  argument,  however,  may  be  acquiesced  in 
without  shaking  the  reader's  conviction  that  pleasure  is 
the  only  motive  of  action.  Thus  after  taking  the  ut- 
most pains  to  make  the  above  objections  plain,  I  have 
frequently  been  met  with  the  following  reply:  "All  you 
say  may  be  very  true,  but  you  fail  to  convince  me  that 
it  is  possible  for  me  to  act  from  any  other  motive  than 
desire  for  my  own  pleasure.  Even  when  I  flatter  myself 
that  I  have  at  last  succeeded  in  performing  a  really 
self-denying  and  disinterested  action,  closer  inspection 
invariably  reveals  to  me  that  I  have  only  done  it  because 
I  pleased,  or  because  it  pleased  me  so  to  do.  Even 
extreme  cases  of  so-called  self-sacrifice — as,  for  instance, 
that  of  the  martyr — are  seen  on  further  scrutiny  to  be 
only  subtler  or  more  eccentric  forms  of  self-pleasing.  It 
is  not  necessary  to  maintain  that,  in  such  a  case,  the 
object  is  any  form  of  sensuous  pleasure,  either  in  this 
world  or  the  next.  All  that  is  argued  is,  that  the  course 
of  action  which  the  martyr  chooses  must,  in  some  way 
incomprehensible  to  ordinary  mortals,  have  pleased  him 
— is  in  fact  only  his  eccentric  way  of  'enjoying  himself.' 


Ch.  I]  The  End  as  P/easure  109 

In  this  respect  saint  and  sinner,  martyr  and  pleasure- 
seeker,  are  alike :  the  only  reason  each  can  ultimately 
give  for  preferring  one  form  of  life  to  another  is,  that 
it  gives  him  greater  pleasure." 

Now  we  might  meet  this  objection,  as  it  is  some- 
times proposed  to  do,  by  merely  pointing  out  that  it  rests 
on  an  ambiguity  in  the  English  word  '"please."  "It 
pleases  me  to  do  a  thing  "  may  mean  either  "  It  gives  me 
pleasure  to  do  it,"  or  simply  "I  choose  to  do  it."  This 
distinction  *  may  be  clearly  indicated  by  translating  these 
phrases  into  their  corresponding  Latin  equivalents, 
ajnoenum  est  and  placet,  which  give  respectively  the 
noun-adjectives  rt'///tt7/a  =  things  that  give  pleasure,  and 
placita-=\}[\\x\g's,  chosen  or  resolved  upon.  Now  if  in 
the  above  contention  the  word  "  please  "  is  used  in  the 
latter  sense;  if  in  saying  that  I  always  do  what  I  please, 
or  what  pleases  me,  I  simply  mean  I  always  act  because 
I  choose  to  act,  the  statement  cannot  indeed  be  said  to 
be  false;  it  is  only  meaningless.  It  is  equivalent  to 
saying,  I  always  choose  because  I  choose.  With  all  the 
appearance  of  assigning  a  reason,  the  sentence  assigns 
no  reason  at  all.  If,  on  the  other  hand,  it  be  meant 
that  I  always  act  because  the  action  will  please  me,  or 
because  of  the  pleasure  it  will  give,  the  statement  is 
comprehensible  indeed,  but  it  is  precisely  that  against 
which  the  batteries  of  our  argument  have  in  the  last  few 
sections  been  directed. 

But  this  mode  of  meeting  the  objection  only  leads  my 
opponent  to  a  more  careful  statement  of  it.  "  It  is 
obvious,  of  course,"  he  will  say,  "that  the  statements 
'It  will  give  me  pleasure  '  and  'I  choose  '  have  come  to 
be  regarded  as  different,  but  the  point  of  my  contention 

*  On  which  see  Sidgwick,  op.  cit.,  Book  I.,  ch.  iv. 


I  lo  Ethics  [Bk.  Ill 

just  is  that  this  is  a  superficial  distinction.  On  a  closer 
scrutiny,  'to  choose  '  is  seen  to  be  the  same  thing  as  'to 
find  pleasure  in,'  which  in  turn  merely  means  'to  hope  for 
pleasure  from. '  Or,  putting  choice  aside — as  being  only 
determination  by  the  strongest  desire,  i.e.  (according 
to  my  interpretation),  by  the  greatest  pleasure,  where 
several  courses  present  themselves — and  confining  our- 
selves to  desire,  what  I  contend  is,  that  to  find  the 
idea  of  a  thing  pleasant,  and  to  desire  it,  are  one  and 
the  same,  and  that  to  say  so  is  merely  another  way 
of  saying  that  the  only  object  of  desire  is  pleasure." 

§  50.     Met  by  Distinction  between  "Pleasure  in  Idea" 
and  "Idea  of  Pleasure" 

To  meet  this  form  of  the  objection,  it  is  necessary 
to  look  more  closely  than  we  have  hitherto  done  at 
the  relation  of  pleasure  to  desire.  In  treating  on  a 
previous  occasion  of  the  phenomenon  of  desire,  we 
touched  on  the  relation  to  it  of  feeling  in  general.  We 
saw  that  feeling  enters  into  it  as  one  of  its  constituent 
elements.  Thus  there  is  in  all  desire  a  feeling  of  pain 
in  being  without  the  object  of  desire.  It  is  now  neces- 
sary to  observe  that  besides  this  pain,  and  contrasted 
with  it,  there  is  the  pleasure  which  the  idea  of  the  object 
(another  of  the  constituent  elements  in  desire)  gives 
us.  This  pleasure  is  known  in  ordinary  language  as 
"interest" — "the  interest  which  the  object  excites." 
Stricdy  defined,  it  is  the  feeling  of  the  value  which  the 
object  has  for  the  self.* 

*  Mr.  Bradley  defines  pleasure  generally  as  "the  feeling  of  self- 
realisedness  "  or  "  affirmative  self-feeling"  (^Ethical  Studies,  p.  234). 
As  an  element  in  desire,  it  might  be  defined  as  the  feeling  of 
anticipated  self-realisedness,  or  the  feeling  of  the  congruity  of  the 
object  with  the  natural  wants  or  habits  of  the  self. 


Ch.  I]  The  End  as  Pleasure  1 1 1 

Now  it  may  be  admitted  that  there  is  a  sense  in 
which  this  feeling  may  be  said  to  move  to  action.*  We 
may  even  go  further,  and  admit  for  argument's  sake  that 
the  idea  of  the  course  of  action  chosen,  e.g.,  by  the 
martyr,  gives  him  greater  pleasure  than  the  idea  of  any 
other  possible  course.  But  to  make  this  admission  is 
one  thing,  to  contend  that  in  choosing  that  course  he 
chooses  his  own  pleasure,  or  is  moved  by  the  desire  for 
pleasure,  is  quite  another.  Indeed  the  one  contention 
is  exclusive  of  the  other.  If  the  pleasure  that  moves  us 
be  excited  by  the  idea  of  an  act,  it  cannot  at  one  and 
tl?e  same  moment  be  excited  by  the  idea  of  a  pleasure. 
The  idea  of  pleasure  of  course  may  move  us,  but  ihen 
the  pleasure  becomes  an  object  of  desire,  and  must  in 
turn  excite  a  present  pleasure.  It  follows  then  that  the 
pleasure  which  moves  (if  it  be  pleasure  which  moves) 
cannot  be  the  pleasure  aimed  at;  nor  is  the  contention 
that  we  are  always  moved  by  the  pleasure  of  the  idea 
before  the  mind  equivalent  to  maintaining  that  there 
can  be  no  motive  save  desire  for  pleasure. 

To  pursue  the  question  further,  and  to  ask  in  what 

sense  we  can  be  said  to  be  moved  by  the  pleasure  of  the 

idea,  and  whether  it  is  true  that  we  are  always  moved  to 

action  by  the  idea  which  excites  the  greatest  pleasure, 

would  lead  me  too  far  from  my  present  subject.    Enough 

has   been   said    to    show    the    groundlessness    of    the 

Hedonistic  contention,  either  in  the  form  that  pleasure 

is  the  end,   or  that  it  is  the  only  possible  motive  to 

action. 

*  See  p.  56  above. 


Ethics  [Bk.  Ill 


CHAPTER    11 

THE    END    AS    SELF-SACRIFICE 

§  51.     Opposite  Theory  to  foreg-oing 

In  the  last  chapter  I  examined  the  theory  which  is 
founded  on  the  conception  of  the  self  as  primarily 
and  essentially  a  subject  of  feeling,  animated  by  the 
one  prevailing  desire  of  securing  the  greatest  satis- 
faction to  such  a  subject,  i.e.,  the  greatest  sum-total 
of  pleasure.  In  this  chapter  I  proceed  to  consider 
a  theory  which  in  many  respects  stands  in  direct 
antithesis  to  it.  It  is  founded  on  the  view  that  the 
predominating  element  in  the  self  is  reason,  which, 
r  as  essentially  opposed  to  desire,  asserts  itself  in  the 
authoritative  and  categorical  demands  of  the  moral 
imperative.  On  this  theory  the  end  of  man  as  a  rational 
being  is  unconditional  obedience  to  this  imperative,  as 
the  law  of  his  inner  being  or  true  self.  Pleasure,  so  far 
from  being  the  end,  cannot  enter  into  our  conception  of 
the  end  of  action  without  vitiating  any  claim  which  it 
may  otherwise  have  to  be  considered  virtuous.  In  order 
to  be  good  an  act  must  be  done  out  of  reverence  for  the 
reason  which  enjoins  it,  and  without  respect  to  the  con- 
sequences.    As  opposed  to   the  theory  that  the  end  is 


Ch.  II]  The  End  as  Self-sacrifice  113 

pleasure  for  pleasure's  sake,  this  theory  has  aptly  been 
called  the  theory  of  duty  for  duty's  sake.* 

§  52.     Historical  Forms  of  Theory 

This  theory  has  taken  various  forms,  reappearing  from 
age  to  age,  and  gaining  importance  from  its  antagonism 
to  the  rival  view.  Thus,  when  the  Socratic  circle  broke 
up  into  what  are  known  as  the  minor  Socratic  schools, 
and  the  Cyrenaics  asserted  the  doctrine  that  the  end 
was  to  seize  the  pleasure  of  the  moment,  they  were 
opposed  by  the  Cynics, f  who  taught  that,  on  the  con- 
trary, pleasure  was  an  evil,  and  that  the  true  good 
consisted  in  independence  of  all  forms  of  passion  or 
desire.  At  a  lp,ter  date  the  Stoics  proved  themselves 
superior  to  their  Cynic  precursors  in  presenting  a  more 
dignified  view  of  human  personality,  and  in  the  em- 
phasis they  laid  upon  the  active  life;  but  they  were  in 
fundamental  agreement  with  them  in  holding  the  chief 
good  to  be  life  in  accordance  with  reason,  by  which  was 
meant  the  life  in  which  passion  and  desire  played  the 
smallest,  reason,  or,  as  they  expressed  it,  "nature,"  the 
largest  part.  Under  like  influences  the  ascetic  elements 
in  Christian  morality  were  developed.  It  was  as  a  protest 
against  the  easy-going  naturalism  of  pagan  morality  that 
the  exaggerations  of  hermits  and  anchorites,  and  later  the 
whole  monastic  system,  had  their  value.  In  our  own 
century  the  current  Hedonism  has  found  its  corrective, 
since  the  time  of  Kant,   in  the  theory  set  forth  in  so 

*  See  the  admirable  contrast  between  these  two  views  in  Bradley's 
Ethical  Studies,  Essays  III.  and  IV.  See  also  Dewey,  op.  cit., 
pp.  78  foil. 

t  The  school  is  represented  in  popular  thought  by  Diogenes,  who, 
however,  had  little  to  do  with  developing  its  fundamental  tenets. 


1 14  Ethics  [Bk.  Ill 

notable  a  form*  by  that  philosopher,  viz.,  that  the  only 
absolutely  good  thing  is  the  Good  Will,  which  has  been 
interpreted  to  mean  will  determined  by  reverence  for 
reason  as  revealed  in  the  moral  law  and  untainted  by 
any  lower  motive. f 

§  53.    The  Theory  recognises  Right  as  distinct  from 

Expediency- 
It  must  be  recognised  at  the  outset  that  this  theory  is 
not  open  to  the  objection  which  common-sense  morality 
has  always  brought  against  Hedonism,  that  it  confounds 
the  distinction  between  what  is  right  and  what  is  prudent. 
On  the  contrary,  the  theory  before  us  stretches  the  dis- 
tinction to  the  point  of  denying  any  relation  between 
them.  Opposed  to  the  desires,  which  by  their  very  nature 
are  self-seeking,  it  is  held  that  there  is  another  principle 
of  action  which  is  radically  distinct  from  and  may  deter- 
mine us  independently  of  them.  The  suggestions  of 
desire  may  doubtless  conflict  with  one  another,  and 
reason,  in  the  sense  of  reflection,  may  be  called  upon 
to  arbitrate  between  them.  This  regulation  of  conflicting 
desires  in  such  a  manner  as  to  secure  the  sum-total  of 
selfish  advantage  is  known  as  prudence.  But  desire,  as 
a  whole,  is  maintained  to  be  by  its  very  nature  in  never- 
ceasing  conflict  with  reason  as  such,  and  virtue  consists  in 
denying  altogether  the  claim  of  the  former  to  determine 
the  action  of  the  rational  will.   Right  thus  stands  out  clear 

*  See  Kant's  Theory  of  Ethics  (Abbott). 

t  Corresponding  to  this  philosophical  theory  we  have,  in  ordinary 
life,  the  test  which  many  well-intentioned,  but  usually  somewhat  in- 
effective persons,  habitually  apply  to  their  conduct  as  a  test  of  the 
purity  of  their  motives,  "  Am  I  doing  this  because  I  hke  to,  or  because 
it  is  right?"  the  assumption  being  that  one  cannot  like  what  is  right 
and  be  all  the  better  for  doing  so. 


Ch.  II]  The  End  as  Self-sacrifice  1 1 5 

from  the  taint  of  all  prudential  considerations.  Let  these 
once  enter  into  the  motive  of  an  act  and  its  claim  to 
moral  rectitude  is  destroyed. 

With  this  qualitative  difference  between  prudence 
and  morality  is  connected  the  absoluteness  with  which 
ordinary  moral  consciousness  invests  the  moral  law.  So 
long  as  the  so-called  siiinnium  bomim  only  differs  in 
quantity  from  the  particular  goods  which  are  the  object  of 
particular  desires,  it  is  difficult  to  see  where  an  "ought," 
i.e.,  an  absolute  or  categorical  imperative,  can  come  in. 
The  end  in  reference  to  which  such  an  imperative  has 
meaning  must  be  a  universal  one,  i.e.,  one  which  it  is 
reasonable  to  demand  that  all  should  pursue.  It  cannot 
be  conditional  on  their  "  liking  to."  Now  it  is  quite  true 
that  the  Hedonist  represents  the  greatest  pleasure  as  a 
universal  end,  but  then  the  form  which  the  greatest 
pleasure  takes  to  each  individual  is  by  its  very  nature 
particular.  Granted  that  the  so-called  "  middle-axioms  " 
of  morality,  "Thou  shalt  not  steal,"  "Thou  shalt  not 
kill,"  etc.,  are  generalisations  from  experience  as  to  the 
mode  best  fitted  on  the  average  for  realising  this  end,  they 
have  authority  for  the  individual  only  on  the  hypothesis 
that  there  are  no  other  modes,  and  that  his  idea  of  the 
greatest  pleasure  is  the  idea  of  the  average  man.  Obedi- 
ence to  them  can  never  be  required  unconditionally.* 
"You  ought  to  do  this  "  can  have  no  meaning,  as  an  un- 
conditional command,  to  the  consistent  Hedonist.  The 
rejoinder,  "Yes,  provided!  recognise  that  action  as  a 
means  to  my  greatest  pleasure;  but  I  don't,"  puts  an 
end  to  the  matter.     But  on  the  theory  under  discussion 

*  Hence  the  tendency  of  the  older  Hedonist  writers  to  represent 
the  middle  axioms  as  the  invention  of  government.  Virtue  is  "  the 
interest  of  the  stronger." 


ii6  Ethics  [Bk.  Ill 

it  is  different.  Reason  is  the  same  for  all.  Being, 
moreover,  that  which  is  distinctive  of  man,  it  speaks  in 
the  name  of  his  true  or  permanent  self,  as  opposed  to  the 
transient  phases  of  appetite  and  passion  which  he  shares 
with  the  lower  animals.  Its  law  accordingly  is  the  law 
of  liberty.  To  disobey  reason  is  to  renounce  man's 
special  birthright  of  freedom, — the  freedom  that  consists 
in  submitting  to  a  self-given  law,  and  refusing  to  be 
enslaved  by  the  alien  authority  of  a  merely  natural  in- 
clination. It  is  not  therefore  open  to  the  individual  to 
plead  the  peculiarities  of  his  sentient  nature  in  excuse 
for  disregarding  the  imperatives  of  reason.  These  are 
binding  upon  him  as  a  rational  being.  To  deny  their 
authority  is  to  deny  himself  part  or  lot  in  the  kingdom 
of  humanity. 

§  54.    Value  of  this  View  of  Man's  Nature  in  the 
History  of  Thought 

It  is  in  virtue  of  this  uncompromising  attitude  towards 
the  lower  life  of  desire  that  this  theory,  and  the  view  of 
life  founded  upon  it  (in  spite  of  their  one-sidedness), 
have  exercised  so  important  an  influence  upon  thought 
and  life. 

The  theory  that  the  essential  element  in  man,  or  that 
to  which  he  is  called  upon  to  give  effect,  is  his  reason,  has 
usually  risen  into  prominence  in  the  history  of  civilised 
nations  at  periods  when,  owing  to  external  misfortunes 
or  the  decay  of  national  institutions,  the  world  has  offered 
little  that  could  satisfy  man's  higher  aspirations.  This 
was  notably  so  at  the  time  of  the  rise  of  the  Stoic 
philosophy,  when,  owing  to  the  decay  of  free  national  life 
among  the  Greeks,  the  individual  found  himself  thrown 
back  upon  the  resources  of  his  own  inner  life  for  support 


Ch.  II]  The  End  as  Self-sacrifice  117 

to  the  sense  of  human  dignity  and  freedom  which  could 
no  longer  be  found  in  civil  and  political  life.  It  was 
even  more  conspicuously  so  during  the  early  ages  of  the 
Roman  P>mpire,  when,  in  a  rich  and  highly  cultured 
society,  "all  men  were  slaves  but  one."  To  have  kept 
alive  under  such  circumstances  the  heroic  view  of  life, 
as  the  Stoics  did,  was  no  small  service  to  humanity. 

But  there  are  other  and  more  practical  benefits  directly 
traceable  to  this  view  of  life.  By  laying  stress  on  what 
was  common  to  all  mankind,  viz.,  his  rationality,  instead 
of  on  what  was  particular,  viz.,  his  circumstances  and 
individual  capacities,  this  theory  laid  the  foundations  for 
a  new  view  of  the  relations  of  men  to  one  another. 
Hence  it  was  in  the  Stoic  schools  that  the  idea  of  the 
brotherhood  of  man,  as  opposed  to  the  partnership  of 
citizens,  first  took  root,  and  was  made  the  basis  of  the 
denial  of  the  distinction  between  slave  and  free.*  It 
might  be  said  that  it  was  to  Christianity  and  not  to 
Stoicism  that  the  general  acceptance  of  this  idea  was 
due.  This  is  doubtless  true;t  but  that  the  early  Chris- 
tians conceived  it  in  a  mystic  and  emotional,  rather 
than  a  reflective  and  practical  form,  is  seen  in  the  fact 
that  slavery  as  a  human  institution  rouses  no  protest  in 
the  first  writers. 

But  his  rational  nature  is  not  only  that  which  unites 
man  to  man :  it  is  also  that  which  gives  to  each  his  separate 
dignity  as  a  man.  In  emphasising  it.  Stoicism  laid  the 
foundations  of  the  conception  of  human  personality,  and 
thus  provided,  for  the  first  time,  a  secure  basis  for  a  con- 
sistent theory  of  legal  rights.     Hence  it  was  that  a  doc- 

*  The  first  protest  against  the  institution  of  slavery  seems  to  have 
come  from  the  Cynics.  See  Zeller's  Socrates  and  the  Socratic  Schools, 
p.  323.  t  -''ee  pp.  231,  232. 


ii8  Ethics  [Bk.  Ill 

trine,  which  as  a  principle  of  morals  has  too  often  been 
stark  and  barren,  blossomed  in  the  field  of  politics  under 
the  fostering  care  of  Stoic  thinkers  into  the  great  system 
of  rights  and  obligations  known  as  Roman  Law. 

§  55.     Duty  for  Duty's  Sake  as  a  Practical  Principle 

In  actual  practice  the  theory  that  lays  the  emphasis 
upon  duty,  as  opi)Osed  to  inclination,  contains  an  impor- 
tant element  of  truth,  which  naturalistic  theories  of  the 
end  of  action  have  always  tended  to  overlook.  For  it  is 
undoubtedly  true  that  at  a  certain  stage  in  moral  develop- 
ment, both  in  the  individual  and  in  the  race,  the  negative 
or  ascetic  element  is  the  prominent  one.  All  moral  prog- 
ress consists  in  subordination  of  lower  to  higher  impulses, 
and  at  a  certain  stage  it  may  be  more  important  to  con- 
quer the  lower  than  to  give  effect  to  the  higher.  How 
far  it  is  possible  to  effect  this  conquest  without  appeal  to 
higher  and  more  positive  principles  of  action;  how  far, 
for  instance,  sensual  impulses  can  be  made  to  yield 
before  the  abstract  announcements  of  reason  that  they  are 
"  wrong, "  without  assignment  of  further  reason  or  without 
appeal  to  the  higher  interests  and  affections,  is  a  question 
for  the  educator.  What  is  certain  is,  that  morality  begins 
in  self-restraint  and  self-denial,  and  that  it  is  impossible 
to  conceive  of  circumstances  in  which  this  negative 
element  will  be  totally  absent  from  it.  Whatever  we  are 
to  say  of  the  desire  to  enjoy  pleasure,  it  is  certain  that 
readiness  to  suffer  pain  is  an  element  in  all  virtue,  and 
that  there  is  more  danger  for  the  individual  in  indulging 
the  former  than  in  over-cultivating  the  latter.* 

*  At  a  time  when  ethical  theories  are  anti-ascetic  rather  than 
hedonistic,  it  is  delightful,  in  a  scientific  treatise,  to  come  across  a 
passage  like  the  following  on  the  practical  value  of  da-Kr]ais:   "As 


Ch.  IT]  The  End  as  Self-sacrifice  119 

The  defect  of  the  ascetic  theory  is  not  that  it  lays 
emphasis  on  the  negative  aspect  of  morality,  but  that  it 
treats  that  aspect  as  the  final  one.  Self-realisation  cannot 
consist  in  mere  resistance  to  the  suggestions  of  desire.  If 
it  did,  the  satisfaction  of  one  element  in  human  nature 
would  mean  the  destruction  of  another;  the  realisation  of 
reason  would  mean  the  annihilation  of  feeling  and  desire. 
Seeing,  moreover,  that  virtue  consists  in  free  determina- 
tion by  reason,  and  reason  is  not  otherwise  definable  on 
this  theory  save  as  the  antithesis  of  desire,  the  virtuous 
man,  so  far  from  being  independent  of  desire,  is  de- 
pendent on  its  continued  resistance  for  the  opportunity 
of  realising  himself  in  conflict  with  it.  Virtue,  in  fact, 
lives  in  the  life  of  its  antagonist.  Final  and  complete 
victory  over  it  would  involve  its  own  destruction  along 
with  the  destruction  of  desire.*     This,  which  might  be 

a  final  practical  maxim,  relative  to  these  habits  of  the  will,  we  may, 
then,  offer  something  like  this  :  Keep  the  faculty  of  effort  alive  in 
you  by  a  little  gratuitous  exercise  every  day.  That  is,  be  systemati- 
cally ascetic  or  heroic  in  little  unnecessary  points;  do  every  day  or 
two  something  for  no  other  reason  than  that  you  would  rather  not 
do  it :  so  that,  when  the  hour  of  dire  need  draws  nigh,  it  may  find 
you  not  unnerved  and  untrained  to  stand  the  test.  Asceticism  of 
this  sort  is  like  the  insurance  which  a  man  pays  on  his  house  and 
goods.  The  tax  does  him  no  good  at  the  time,  and  possibly  may 
never  bring  him  a  return.  But,  if  the  lire  does  come,  his  having 
paid  it  will  be  his  salvation  from  ruin.  .So  with  the  man  who  has 
daily  inured  himself  to  habits  of  concentrated  attention,  energetic 
volition,  and  self-denial  in  unnecessary  things.  He  will  stand  like 
a  tower  when  everything  rocks  round  him,  and  when  his  softer 
fellow-mortals  are  winnowed  like  chaff  in  the  blast." — Prof.  William 
James's  Principles  of  Psychology,  Vol.  I.,  p.  126.  On  the  subject  of 
the  paragraph  generally,  cp.  Dewey,  op.  cit.,  pp.  94,  155,  156. 

*  This  one-sidedness  might  be  further  illustrated  from  the  depend- 
ence of  the  ascetic  for  the  feeling ^  or  sense  of  self-realisation  upon 


I20  Ethics  [Bk.  Ill 

called  the  "paradox  of  asceticism,"  is  the  explanation 
of  the  failure  which  has  attended  all  attempts  to  organise 
a  practical  scheme  of  life  upon  the  basis  of  this  theory. 
In  the  absence  of  an  inspiring  positive  ideal  of  human 
life,  those  who  have  been  in  earnest  about  the  matter 
have  alternately  been  occupied  with  the  vain  attempt 
to  cancel  in  themselves  all  healtliy  human  interests,  or 
(failing,  as  they  were  bound  to  do,  to  realise  this  ideal) 
with  counselling*  that  retirement  from  the  conflict  which 
death  alone  can  offer.  The  less  earnest  spirits  to  whom 
this  ideal  has  been  offered  have  tended,  on  the  other 
hand,  to  fall  back,  with  true  cynical  indifference,  upon 
the  lowest  forms  of  sensual  life.f 

§  56.     Criticism  of  Theory 

The  practical  difficulty  suggested  by  the  Hedonistic 
theory  was,  as  we  saw,  that  it  fails  to  afford  any  secure 
foundation  for  the  distinction  between  right  and  wrong. 
The  vocabulary  of  "right"  (duty,  obligation,  responsi- 
bility, ought)  seems  to  have  no  place  in  psychological 
Hedonism.     The  objection  to  the  opposite  theory  may, 

the  consciousness  of  what  he  is  not  rather  than  of  what  he  is,  i.e., 
upon  the  contrast  between  himself  and  others.  Hence,  that  which 
in  ordinary  cases  is  tlie  approval  of  conscience  becomes  in  liim  an 
odious  species  of  spiritual  pride.  This  is  illustrated  in  the  well- 
known  stories  of  Diogenes,  as  when  he  mocked  Plato  for  pride  of 
dress  and  bearing,  and  got  the  answer,  "  I  see  thy  pride,  Diogenes, 
through  the  holes  in  thy  cloak."  Cp.  Shakespeare's  Timon  of 
At/ieits : — 

TlMON.  "Thou  art  proud,  Apemantus." 

Ap.  "  Of  nothing  so  much  as  that  I  am  not  like  Timon." 

*  As  did  the  Roman  Stoics. 

f  As  was  illustrated  by  the  history  of  the  Cynics  (see  Zeller's 
Socrates  and  the  Socratic  Schools^  and  the  mediieval  monasteries. 


Ch.  II]  The  End  as  Self-sacrifice  i2x 

as  we  have  just  seen,  be  said  to  be  the  opposite  one. 
It  fails  to  provide  for  the  ordinary  daily  life  of  humanity. 
If  no  act  is  morally  right  which  is  done  because  we  desire 
to  do  it,  then,  not  only  because  I  am  virtuous  am  I  to 
have  no  more  cakes  and  ale,  but  a  stain  is  cast  on  all 
conduct  which  in  the  common  intercourse  of  life  springs 
spontaneously  from  the  ordinary  affections  of  love  and 
pity,  hope  and  fear,  llie  source  of  those  two  opposite 
errors  is  the  place  which  is  assigned  to  reason  by  each 
respectively.  In  the  one  case  reason  gives  no  end  at 
all,  but  is  confined  to  the  function  of  prescribing  the 
means  for  realising  the  end  set  by  the  sentient  nature. 
In  the  other  case  it  provides  indeed  an  end,  but,  in 
denying  human  desire  a  place  in  the  good  life,  it 
denies  the  only  means  by  which  the  ideal  end  can 
ever  pass  into  actuality.  But  while  the  view  before 
us  presents  these  points  of  contrast  with  the  preceding 
one  in  regard  to  the  function  it  assigns  to  thought  or 
reason,  it  is  in  fundamental  agreement  with  it  in  holding 
that  reason  stands  outside  the  object  of  desire,  and  is 
only  externally  related  to  it.  On  the  one  theory  as  on 
the  other,  the  object  is  conceived  of  as  given  by  the 
appetitive  or  purely  irrational  part  of  our  nature :  the 
only  object  of  desire  is  pleasure,  and  in  desiring  pleasure 
man  is  determined  by  his  sentient  or  appetitive  nature 
alone. 

In  criticism  of  this  view  of  the  relation  of  reason  to 
desire  it  must  be  pointed  out: — (i)  that  there  can  be 
no  object  of  desire,  in  the  proper  sense  of  the  word, 
which  is  not  constituted  such  by  reason  itself.  This 
was  involved  in  our  analysis  of  desire.  To  refuse  to  rec- 
ognise it  is  to  confuse  the  distinction  between  appetite 
and  desire.     The  lower  animals  have  appetites  and  are 


122  Ethics  [Bk.  Ill 

determined  by  them,  but  we  have  no  reason  to  attrib- 
ute to  them  the  power  of  conceiving  objects  of  desire. 
On  the  other  hand,  man  also  is  said  to  have  appetites, 
but  these  are  only  the  raw  material  of  desire,  as  sensa- 
tion may  be  said  to  be  the  raw  material  of  perception. 
So  soon  as  we  became  conscious  of  them  as  elements 
which  compete  for  the  determination  of  our  conduct, 
they  have  ceased  to  be  mere  appetites  in  becoming 
desires,  just  as  the  sensation  of  which  we  are  conscious 
as  an  element  in  knowledge  is  no  longer  a  mere 
sensation,  but  an  object  of  perception. 

(2)  As  there  can  be  no  desire  without  the  conscious 
activity  of  thought  or  reason,  so  there  can  be  no  activity 
in  a  thinking  or  rational  self  (as  we  understand  such 
activity)  without  desire.  The  idea  that  there  can  could 
only  have  arisen  in  the  confusion  just  criticised  between 
appetite  and  desire.  It  is  perfectly  true  that  reason  may 
oppose  the  blind  impulses  of  animal  appetite,  and  that 
such  opposition  must  always  be  the  first  step  in  the 
moral  life.  But  this  does  not  mean  that  the  rational  life 
is  therefore  the  life  which  is  undetermined  by  desire,  but 
that  it  is  the  life  which  is  habitually  regulated  with  a 
view  to  the  satisfaction  of  the  higher  or  more  universal 
as  opposed  to  the  lower  or  more  particular  desires.  Even 
in  its  highest  and  apparently  purest  manifestations,  as,  for 
instance,  in  the  search  for  truth,  reason  is  determined  by 
interest,  i.e.,  by  feeling  and  desire.  The  rational  life, 
in  such  a  case,  consists  not  in  acting  independently  of 
desire, — this  is  impossible, — but  in  subordinating  the 
lower  or  more  particular  desires  (e.g.,  the  desire  to 
amass  wealth  for  oneself  and  family)  to  the  higher 
and  more  universal  {e.g.,  the  discovery  of  truth  and 
the  benefit  of  the  species). 


Ch.  II]  The  End  as  Self-sacrifice  123 

(3)  If  it  be  asked  according  to  what  law  or  principle 
this  relative  subordination  of  desires  is  to  be  effected,  if 
not  according  to  the  principle,  laid  down  by  the  theory 
criticised,  of  determination  by  reason  alone,  we  are 
brought  back  to  the  question  of  our  present  investiga- 
tion,— the  question  of  the  standard  of  the  relative  merit 
or  value  of  conduct.  Without  yet  attempting  to  sum- 
marise our  results  upon  the  whole  question, .  I  may 
here  point  out  that,  even  from  the  side  of  the  lower 
life  of  the  so-called  animal  appetites,  we  are  not  left 
without  a  witness.  For  these  appetites,  even  in  the 
lower  animals,  are  not  the  blind  chaos  of  lawless  elements 
which  the  theory  we  are  considering  supposes  them  to 
be.  They  are  already  organised  according  to  a  law  or 
reason  of  their  own, — the  law,  namely,  of  the  subordi- 
nation of  those  which  are  less  important  for  the  ends 
of  the  individual  or  the  species  (if  you  like,  the  lower)  to 
those  which  are  more  important  (if  you  like,  the  higher). 
It  is  not,  of  course,  meant  that  the  life  of  the  lower  animals 
or  of  man  in  his  ''natural"  state  is  explicitly  rational, 
but  that  the  so-called  "animal  impulses  "  themselves  do 
not  present  us  with  a  chaos  of  disorderly  elements,  but 
already  constitute  a  system,  in  which  a  relative  subordi- 
nation to  an  implicit  end  is  distinctly  traceable.  How 
this  end  is  to  be  defined  is  as  much  a  question  for 
biology  as  for  ethics.  It  may  at  this  point  be  described, 
in  biological  language,  as  adaptation  to  environment,  or 
the  establishment  of  equilibrium  between  function  and 
the  field  in  which  it  is  called  upon  to  act.*  To  pursue 
this  end  in  one  form  or  another  is  the  law  of  all  sentient 

*  The  question  whether  this  equihbrium  is  that  of  the  particular 
individual,  or  of  the  tribe  or  species  {i.e.,  whether  it  is  individual  or 
social),  will  come  up  in  another  form  at  a  later  stage  in  this  analysis. 


124  Ethics  [Bk.  Ill 

life.  The  difference  between  man  and  the  lower  order:=; 
of  creation  is  not  that  law,  which  is  only  implicit  reason, 
first  manifests  itself  in  him,  but  that  he  first  becomes 
aware  of  it  as  such;  or,  as  it  is  sometimes  expressed, 
reason  first  becomes  aware  of  itself  in  him.  It  is,  of 
course,  true  that  in  becoming  conscious  of  himself  as 
subject  to  this  law,  or  as  called  upon  to  realise  this  end, 
man  has  lost  his  primitive  innocence, — he  has  eaten  of 
the  tree  of  knowledge,  and  knows  good  and  evil.  But 
this  does  not  mean  that  he  has  to  evolve  the  law  of 
duty  and  of  right  from  his  own  inner  consciousness.  It 
only  means  that  he  is  henceforth  called  upon  to  pursue 
consciously  the  end  which  sub-human  nature  pursues 
unconsciously,  to  make  explicit  in  his  own  life  the 
reason  already  implicitly  contained  in  it. 

(4)  Hence  the  end  or  standard  of  good  action  cannot  be 
the  suppression  of  the  desires,  but  co-ordination  of  them 
as  each  in  its  place  capable  of  contributing  to  realise  the 
end  of  the  whole,  yet  strictly  subordinate  to  it.  Such  is 
the  constitution  of  human  life,  that  the  satisfaction  of  the 
higher  desires  is  only  possible  by  means  of  the  relative 
satisfaction  of  the  lower.  Thus  the  gratification  of  the 
desire  for  knowledge,  to  revert  to  our  previous  example, 
is  only  possible  in  any  society,  and,  in  a  sense,  by  any 
individual,  on  condition  that  the  more  primary  instinct 
to  acquire  property  and  secure  the  means  of  subsistence 
has  been  satisfied.  Hence  it  is  that  even  the  Iqwer 
desires  bring  with  them  their  own  justification.  The 
function  of  reason  is  not  to  eliminate,  but  to  transform 
them.* 

*  On  the  subject  of  this  paragraph,  see  Bradley,  op.  cit.,  Essay  IV. ; 
Caird,  op.  cit.,  Vol.  II.,  Book  II.,  ch.  ii.,  esp.  pp.  202-209,  226-8; 
Dewey,  op.  cit.,  pp.  84-96,  also  pp.  23,  24. 


Ch.  Ill]  Evolutionary  Hedonism  125 


CHAPTER  III 

EVOLUTIONARY    HEDONISM 

§  57.    Utilitarianism  and  Evolution 

The  utilitarian  theory  has  recently  been  taken  up  by 
some  of  the  leading  exponents  of  biological  evolution, 
chiefly  Mr.  Herbert  Spencer,  and  has  from  them  received 
a  new  form,  which  we  must  next  consider.  It  is  important 
to  observe  the  precise  point  of  divergence  between  the 
newer  and  the  older  form  of  the  pleasure  theory.  The 
objections  urged  against  the  latter  by  the  former  do  not 
concern  the  nature  of  the  end,  or  that  which,  in  the  last 
resort,  is  the  standard  of  value  in  moral  judgments. 
This  is  still  the  same.  "No  school,"  says  Mr.  Spencer, 
"can  avoid  taking  for  the  ultimate  moral  aim  a  desirable 
state  of  feeling,  called  by  whatever  name,  gratification, 
enjoyment,  happiness.  Pleasure,  somewhere,  at  some 
time,  to  some  being  or  beings,  is  an  inexpugnable  ele- 
ment in  the  conception."*  But  while  this  is  so,  the 
presuppositions  on  which  the  older  form  of  utilitarian- 
ism rested,  and  the  method  which  it  employed,  are 
thought  to  be  open  to  serious  objection. 

Thus,  it  is  pointed  out  that  the  older  form  is  founded 

*  Data  of  Ethics,  §  15.      Cp.  Appendix,  p.  307  (5th  ed.). 


126  Ethics  [Bk.  Ill 

on  an  erroneous  conception  of  man's  nature.  The 
writers  who  founded  and  developed  utilitarianism,  in  its 
earlier  forms,  started  from  a  conception  of  the  relation  of 
the  individual  to  his  social  environment  which,  in  view  of 
the  results  now  established,  is  quite  untenable,  (i)  It  re- 
gards society  as  an  aggregate  of  individuals,  mechanically 
cohering,  like  atoms  or  molecules  in  inorganic  matter. 
The  weakness  of  this  point  of  view  became  obvious  when 
the  question  was  asked  how  the  atoms  or  molecules  of 
which  society,  on  this  theory,  consists,  came  together  at 
all.  It  was  to  meet  this  question  that  recourse  was  had 
by  earlier  writers  to  the  myth  of  the  "Social  Contract," 
according  to  which  individuals,  who  had  previously  lived 
in  isolation,  at  length  came  together;  and  in  order  to 
secure  the  greater  good  of  self-preservation,  contracted 
themselves  out  of  their  natural  rights  to  freedom  and 
equality.  (2)  Corresponding  to  this  conception  of  society 
as  an  aggregate  of  homogeneous  units,  we  have  the  con- 
ception of  fixed  and  equal  "lots"  of  happiness.  "We 
must  conceive  of  happiness  "  (according  to  this  theory) 
"as  a  kind  of  emotional  currency,  capable  of  being 
calculated  and  distributed  in  'lots,'  which  have  a  certain 
definite  value  independently  of  any  special  taste  of  the 
individual.  .  .  .  Pains  and  pleasures  can  be  handed 
about  like  pieces  of  money,  and  we  have  simply  to 
calculate  how  to  gain  a  maximum  of  pleasure  and  a 
minimum  of  pain."*  (3)  It  looks  at  society  as  static. 
The  atoms  are  relatively  constant.  It  is  true  that  they 
vary  according  to  the  circumstances  of  birth  and  educa- 
tion. But  these  variations  are,  as  it  were,  accidental  and 
individual.     On  the   aggregate,  they  remain  the  same. 

*  Leslie  Stephen,  Science  of  Ethics,  p.  360. 


Ch.  Ill]  Evolutionary  Hedonism  127 

(4)  The  happiness  or  pleasure,  to  cause  and  distribute 
which  so  as  to  secure  the  greatest  amount  to  the 
greatest  number  is  the  moral  end,  is  similarly  conceived 
of  as  relative  only  to  the  capacities  of  individuals  static- 
ally considered.  Its  main  features  are  fixed  by  the 
constitution  of  human  nature  as  at  present  empirically 
known  to  us. 

§  58.    The  Org-anic  View  of  Human  Society  corrects 
these  Errors 

For  this  "atomic  theory"  of  human  nature  and  hap- 
piness, modern  science  has  substituted  the  organic.  Go 
back,  it  teaches,  as  far  as  you  will,  in  the  history  of  the 
race  or  of  the  individual,  you  never  come  to  anything 
that  in  any  degree  corresponds  to  the  "  individual  "  of 
the  older  theories.  We  never  know  man  but  as  a  mem- 
ber of  some  kind  of  society.  He  not  only  exists  in  a 
society,  but  is  what  he  is  in  virtue  of  his  relation  to  it. 
The  connection  between  the  individual  and  society  is 
not  merely  external  and  mechanical,  but  internal  and 
organic.  All  that  makes  him  what  he  is,  all  his  powers 
of  mind  and  body,  are  inherited,  i.e.,  come  to  him  from 
a  previous  state  of  society.  The  instincts  and  desires 
which  are  the  springs  of  his  actions  presuppose  some 
sort  of  organised  society  of  family  and  tribe  as  the  field 
of  their  satisfaction.  The  education  which  he  receives 
is  only  possible  by  means  of  such  social  institutions  as 
language,  the  family,  the  school,  the  workshop.  The 
prizes  he  wins  in  battle,  the  property  he  acquires  in 
trade,  can  only  be  secured  to  him  in  virtue  of  some  form 
of  social  law  and  social  justice,  however  rudimentary. 
In  a  word,  his  life  takes  its  form  at  every  point  from 
the  relation  in  which  he  stands  to  his  social  environment. 


128  Ethics  [Bk.  Ill" 

All  this  is  expressed  in  the  scientific  doctrine  which 
has  superseded  the  myth  of  the  social  contract  as  the 
ground  of  explanation  of  the  phenomena  of  morals  and 
politics.*  "A  full  perception  of  the  truth,"  says  Mr. 
Leslie  Stephen,  "  that  society  is  not  a  mere  aggregate, 
but  an  organic  growth, — that  it  forms  a  whole  the  laws 
of  whose  growth  can  be  studied  apart  from  those  of 
the  individual  atom, — supplies  the  most  characteristic 
postulate  of  modern  speculation."  "Society,  in  fact,  is 
a  structure  which  by  its  nature  implies  a  certain  fixity  in 
the  distribution  and  relations  of  classes.  Each  man  is 
found  with  a  certain  part  of  the  joint  framework,  which 
is  made  of  flesh  and  blood  instead  of  bricks  or  timber, 
but  which  is  not  the  less  truly  a  persistent  structure."! 

But  society  is  not  only  an  organism  in  the  sense  that 
the  form  of  the  individual  life  is  determined  by  his  rela- 
tion to  the  whole,  as  the  various  members  are  by  their 
relation  to  the  body,|  but  in  the  sense  that,  like  other 
organisms,  it  grows  and  develops  by  reaction  upon  its 
environment.     This  growth  is  a  simultaneous  process  of 

*  I  speak  in  the  text  as  though  scientific  writers  had  an  equal  hold 
of  the  notion  that  society  is  an  organism,  and  expounded  it  with 
equal  insight.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  a  history  of  the  doctrine  would 
show  that  writers  greatly  differ  in  these  respects.  Mr.  Spencer, 
who  might  be  said  to  have  been  the  founder  of  it,  holds  it  with  a 
feeble  grasp  (see  D.  G.  Ritchie's  criticisms.  Principles  of  State  Inter- 
ference, I.  and  II.),  and  expounds  it  (^Essays,  Vol.  I.)  in  an  external 
way,  as  though  it  were  an  interesting  "  analogy "  or  metaphor. 
On  the  other  hand,  Mr.  Stephen,  as  quoted  in  the  text,  has  made 
a  great  advance  on  all  previous  statements  of  this  truth  in  this  country. 

t  Leslie  Stephen's  Science  of  Ethics,  pp.  31,  29. 

i  "We  might  as  well  regard  the  members  of  our  own  body  as 
animals,"  says  Mr.  James  Ward,  "  as  suppose  man  is  man  apart  from 
humanity." 


Ch.  Ill]  Evolutionary  Hedonism  '129 

differentiation  and  integration,  the  structure  acquiring 
greater  complexity,  and  the  individuals  becoming  more 
dependent  upon  one  another.  The  end  of  the  process 
is  expressed  in  various  ways  as  "increase,"  "develop- 
ment," "greatest  totality,"  of  life.  "Evolution,"  says 
Mr.  Spencer,  "reaches  its  limit  when  individual  life  is 
the  greatest,  both  in  length  and  breadth.'" 

Finally,  the  law  of  social  evolution  is  the  law  of  evolu- 
tion in  other  fields:  that  society  survives  which,  owing 
to  the  constitutibn  of  its  parts  and  members,  and  their 
faithfulness  in  the  discharge  of  their  individual  functions, 
is  best  adapted  to  its  environment.  It  is  the  pressure 
of  the  environment  {r.g.,  of  one  tribe  upon  another  in 
the  struggle  for  existence)  which  explains  the  survival  of 
those  communities  in  which  conduct  is  best  adapted  to 
the  end  of  social  preservation,  i.e.,  furthers  the  health 
and  strength  of  the  tribe  or  nation.  Hence,  "social 
evolution  means  the  evolution  of  a  strong  social  tissue;  * 
the  best  type  is  the  type  implied  by  the  strongest  tissue." 

When  these  results  are  applied  to  the  theory  of  pleasure, 
and  of  moral  judgment  founded  upon  it,  they  are  seen 
to  imply  important  consequences.  Pleasure  is  seen  to 
depend,  not  upon  the  constitution  of  the  individual 
considered  as  an  isolated  atom,  but  upon  the  "  organic 
balance"  of  the  individual's  own  instincts,  as  this  is 
determined  by  his  relations  to  society.  "  Pleasure  is  not 
a  separate  thing,  independently  of  his  special  organisa- 
tion. .  .  .  Each  instinct,  for  example,  must  have  its  turn, 
and  their  respective  provinces  must  be  determined  by 

*  Mr.  Stephen  prefers  "social  tissue"  to  "social  organism," 
because  a  nation  has  not  the  unity  of  the  higher  organisms.  It  is 
limited  by  external  circumstances,  not,  like  them,  by  internal  con- 
stitution.    See  op.  cil.,  ch.  iii.,  §  31. 


130  Ethics  [Bk.  Ill 

the  general  organic  balance.  We  may  undoubtedly  point 
out  that  certain  modes  of  conduct  produce  pain,  and 
others  pleasure;  and  this  is  a  prima  facie  reason,  at  least, 
for  avoiding  one  and  accepting  the  other.  But,  again, 
some  pains  imply  a  remedial  process,  while  others  imply 
disease;  and  the  conduct  which  increases  them  may 
therefore  either  be  wise  or  foolish  in  the  highest 
degree."* 

Similarly,  the  fact  of  growth  and  evolution  in  the  social 
organism  involves  a  revision  of  our  conception  of  hap- 
piness. Development  implies  the  acquisition  of  new 
instincts  and  desires.  Hence  the  happiness  (resulting 
from  the  satisfactions  of  desires)  which  satisfies  at  one 
stage  ceases  to  satisfy  at  another.  "Happiness  itself 
changes  as  the  society  develops,  and  we  cannot  compare 
the  two  societies  at  different  stages,  as  if  they  were 
more  or  less  efficient  machines  for  obtaining  an  identical 
product." 

§  59.    On  the  Utilitarian  Theory  Moral  Laws  are 
Empirical  Generalisations 

Hence  the  further  criticism  of  the  method  recognised 
by  utilitarianism  that  it  is  empirical.  Morality  is  a  gen- 
eralisation founded  on  collated  instances  from  ordinary 
experience  as  to  the  best  means  of  producing  the  greatest 
sum-total  of  pleasure.  To  the  evolutionist,  on  the  other 
hand,  morality  is  the  condition  of  health  in  the  organism. 
It  is  "the  definition  of  some  of  the  most  important  quali- 
ties of  the  social  organism."  "The  moral  law  defines  a 
property  of  the  social  tissue  "  f — the  property  that  makes 
for  its  health.     The  imperatives,  "Thou  shalt  not  steal," 

*   Science  of  Ethics,  p.  365. 

t   Science  of  Ethics,  pp.  148,  168. 


Ch.  Ill]  EvoIutio7iary  Hedonism  131 

"Thou  shalt  not  commit  adultery,"  are  not  to  be  justified 
on  the  ground  that  the  greatest  happiness  to  ourselves 
and  others  may  be  shown  by  appeal  to  experience  to 
result  from  obeying  them  (this  may  or  may  not  be  so 
demonstrable),  but  because  they  are  essential  to  the 
vitality  and  efficiency  of  the  organism.  "This  repre- 
sents the  real  difference  between  the  utilitarian  and  the 
evolutionist  criterion.  The  one  lays  down  as  a  criterion 
the  happiness,  the  other,  the  health,  of  the  society." 

The  two  are  not,  however,  really  opposed.  On  the 
contrary,  the  health  of  society  is  only  valuable  as  the 
condition  of  its  happiness.  The  difference  between  evo- 
lutionary ethics  and  Hedonism  is  not  in  the  ultimate  end 
they  severally  recommend,  but  in  the  proximate  one.  It 
does  not  concern  the  object  to  be  reached  by  man,  but 
the  method  of  reaching  it.  The  end  is  happiness,  but 
that  is  best  attained  by  keeping  it  in  the  background, 
and  fixing  attention  upon  the  conditions.  "While  I 
admit,"  says  Mr.  Spencer,*  "that  happiness  is  the  ulti- 
mate end  to  be  contemplated,  I  do  not  admit  that  it 
should  be  the  proximate  end.  ...  I  conceive  it  to  be 
the  business  of  moral  science  to  deduce  from  the  laws  of 
life  and  the  conditions  of  existence  what  kinds  of  action 
necessarily  tend  to  produce  happiness,  and  what  kinds  to 
produce  unhappiness.  Having  done  this,  its  deductions 
are  to  be  recognised  as  laws  of  conduct,  and  are  to  be 
conformed  to  irrespective  of  a  direct  estimation  of  happi- 
ness or  misery."  Finally,  as  illustrations  of  the  blunders 
into  which  the  application  of  the  empirical  or  direct 
method  may  lead  us,  Mr.  Spencer  has  drawn  up  a 
formidable  list  of  mistaken  efforts  at  legislation  for  the 

*  Data  of  Ethics,  §  21. 


132  Ethics  [Bk.  Ill 

greatest  happiness  of   the  greatest   number  within  the 
past  few  decades.* 

So  far  we  have  the  criticism  of  the  older  utilitarians 
by  their  evolutionist  brethren  of  to-day.  Let  us  now  ex- 
amine the  value  of  the  criticism,  and  the  position  which 
the  critics  have  left  to  themselves. 

§  60.    Importance  of  Theory  of  Evolution  in  the 
Field  of  Ethics 

The  value  of  the  results  which  issue  from  the  applica- 
tion of  the  theory  of  evolution  in  the  field  of  ethics  can 
hardly  be  overrated.  To  mention  a  few  of  the  gains 
that  we  owe  more  or  less  directly  to  it  we  may  note 
that : — 

(i)  //  makes  individualistic  presuppositions  untenable. 
It  shows  the  theories  already  criticised  to  be  as  unten- 
able from  a  biological  as  we  have  seen  that  they  are  from 
an  ethical  point  of  view.  These  theories  in  all  their 
forms  are  individualistic,  i.e.,  the  seK  whose  satisfaction 
is  the  ethical  end  is  conceived  of  as  isolated,  or  at  any 
rate  as  not  essentially  related  to  society.  Thus  the 
Cyrenaics,  while  urging  the  pleasures  of  social  inter- 
course, took  care  to  add  that  one  was  to  practise  the  art 
of  living  together  "like  a  stranger."  The  Epicureans 
extolled  in  this  respect  friendship,  the  most  subjective 
and  accidental  of  social  bonds. t  The  same  defect 
hardly  needs  illustration  from  modern  Hedonism.  In 
the  older  forms,  as  in  Hobbes,|  the  self  is  one  whose 
satisfaction  may  not  only  be  attained  independently  of 
society,   but  is  actually  crossed  in  its  completeness  by 

*  See  The  Man  versus  The  State,  pp.  7  foil.  (8th  ed.). 

t  See  Erdmann's  History  of  Philosophy,  Vol.  I.,  pp.  90,  185. 

X  Who  starts  from  the  axiom  ho/no  homini  lupus. 


Ch.  Ill]  Evolittionai-y  Hedonism  133 

the  existence  of  society.  In  later  Hedonism  we  have 
already  seen  the  shifts  to  which  its  supporters  are  re- 
duced, to  stretch  their  egoistic  ^basis  so  as  to  cover  the 
facts  of  ordinary  morality  and  social  life. 

The  same  feature  appears  in  all  the  forms  of  the 
opposite  theory  with  which  we  made  a  passing  acquaint- 
ance in  discussing  "duty  for  duty's  sake."  The  Cynic 
and  the  Stoic  aimed  at  being  independent  of  the  social, 
as  of  other  instincts  and  desires,  the  former  deliberately 
cultivating  a  form  of  unsociableness  which  has  prtssed 
into  a  byword,  the  latter  living  in  times  when  sdcial 
and  political  life  no  longer  offered  scope  for  the  higher 
aspirations  of  the  soul,  and  men  were  forced  to  seek  in 
the  inner  life  for  the  satisfaction  that  the  world  denied 
them.  Similarly  the  "world  "  with  which  the  Christian 
ascetic  waged  war  included  the  relationships  of  family, 
society,  and  state;  and  even  to  Kant,  society  is  the 
field  of  the  reign  of  interests  hostile  to  true  self- 
determination.* 

On  each  and  all  of  these  theories,  society  is  conceived 
of  as  consisting  of  a  mechanical  union  of  mutually 
repellent  particles,  each  of  which  pursues  an  end  to 
which  the  others  stand  at  best  as  means.  On  the  other 
hand,  the  individuals  are  conceived  of  as  independent 
of  society,  and  only  submitting  to  its  restraints  on  the 

*  Of  course  it  is  impossible  to  secure  the  independence  aimed  at 
by  those  who  adopted  this  attitude.  Diogenes,  however  poorly  he 
thought  of  society,  was  glad,  at  any  rate,  to  have  the  contrast,  only 
possible  by  means  of  it,  between  himself  and  others.  Simeon  Stylites 
does  not  appear  to  have  been  indifferent  to  the  admiration  of  by- 
standers. In  the  nobler  forms  of  the  theory,  notably  in  Kant's 
philosophy,  its  individualism  is  always  on  the  verge  of  breaking 
down  (see  Caird,  loc.  cit.^. 


134  Ethics  [Bk.  hi 

fuller  life  they  might  otherwise  enjoy,  in  virtue  either  of 
necessity  or  of  the  greater  general  security  to  the  vital 
interests  of  persons  and  property  that  it  brings. 

Amid  much  confusion  (to  be  shortly  referred  to), 
evolutionist  writers  have  helped  to  bring  home  the 
truth  that  the  "self,"  whose  satisfaction  upon  these 
theories  is  in  one  form  or  another  the  end,  is  an 
abstraction.  No  attempt  to  define  it  in  terms  of  its 
individual  nature  as  only  accidentally  related  to  society 
can  henceforth  succeed. 

(2)  It  sho7vs  how  moral  ideas  have  had  a  history.  Its 
contribution  to  the  proper  understanding  of  the  his- 
tory of  moral  judgments  and  of  forms  of  virtue  has  been 
not  less  valuable.  Just  as  the  application  of  scientific 
ideas  in  the  field  of  sociology  makes  the  older  forms, 
both  of  naturalistic  and  rationalist  theories  of  the  end, 
untenable,  so  the  application  of  the  historic  method  to 
the  theory  of  conscience,  and  the  forms  which  morality 
takes  in  different  countries  and  times,  puts  Intuitional- 
ism* out  of  court.  In  view  of  the  facts  brought  forward, 
it  can  no  longer  be  maintained  that  the  judgments  of 
conscience  are  innate  and  underived  principles,  related 
to  the  circumstances  only  as  the  field  in  which  effect 

*  Mr.  Spencer  professes  to  have  reconciled  scientific  with  intui- 
tionalist  ethics.  "The  evolution  hypothesis  enables  us  to  reconcile 
opposed  moral  theories.  .  .  .  For  .  .  .  the  doctrine  of  innate  powers 
of  moral  perception  becomes  congruous  with  the  utilitarian  doctrine, 
when  it  is  seen  that  preferences  and  aversions  are  rendered  organic 
by  inheritance  of  the  effects  of  pleasurable  and  painful  experiences 
in  progenitors." — Data  of  Ethics,  p.  124;  see  whole  passage,  with 
which  cp.  Social  Statics,  Introduction  (and  see  Dewey,  op.  cit,  p.  69). 
This  kind  of  reconciliation  reminds  one  of  the  cynic's  witty  interpre- 
tation of  the  manner  in  which  the  lion  and  the  lamb  shall  lie  down 
together,  according  to  prophecy. 


Ch.  Ill]  Et'oliitionary  Jledotiistn  135 

is  to  be  given  to  tlieni."  Thiey  are  sliown  to  be  vitally 
related  to  the  stage  of  development  at  which  the  society 
whose  morality  they  represent  has  arrived,  and  to  have 
had  a  history  in  time  like  all  other  forms  of  conscious 
life.  This  "relativity"  of  the  standard  will  be  the 
subject  of  a  future  chapter,  and  need  not  further  detain 
us  here. 

(3)  //  throws  new  light  on  the  place  of  pleasure  in 
ethics.  A  flood  of  fresh  light  has  been  shed  on  the  place  of 
pleasure  in  biological  evolution,  and  on  the  physiological 
causes  which  have  led  to  its  being,  as  we  have  already 
defined  it  to  be,  the  "feeling  of  self-realisedness."  It  is 
shown  that,  in  as  much  as  creatures  tend  to  persist  in 
pleasurable  activities,  those  will  tend  to  survive  in  the 
struggle  for  existence  in  which  pleasurable  activities  are 
in  harmony  with  the  environment,  and  therefore  tend  to 
further  life;  those,  on  the  other  hand,  will  tend  to  perish 
in  which  pleasurable  activities  are  hostile  to  the  or- 
ganism by  being  unsuited  to  its  environment.  In  this 
way  pleasure,  on  the  whole,  will  come  to  be  the  accom- 
paniment of  activities  which  tend  to  the  survival,  pains  of 
activities  which  tend  to  the  destruction  of  the  organism. 
In  man  that  which  corresponds  to  the  former  species 
of  activities  is,  of  course,  moral  conduct;  that  which 
corresponds  to  the  latter,  immoral  conduct.  Whence  it 
follows  that  moral  conduct  tends  to  be  accompanied  by 
pleasure,  immoral  conduct  by  pain.*  The  gain  to  ethics 
generally  from  this  account  of  pleasure  is  to  be  measured 
by  the  strength  of  the  tendency,  which  has  asserted  itself 
in  all  ages,  to  regard  pleasure  as  a  delusion  of  sense,  and 
by  its  nature  hostile  to  the  moral  life.  Such  a  view  is  no 
longer  consistent  with  the  elementary  facts  of  biology. 

*  See  Data  of  Ethics,  §  t,-^,. 


136  Ethics  [Bk.  Ill 


§  61.    Difficulties  in  Evolutionary  Ethics 

(i)  The  Hedonistic  hypothesis  which  it  favours  finds  no 
support  in  biology.  The  difificulties  and  questions  which 
this  theory  raises  centre  round  the  uncritical  alliance 
which  it  has  formed  with  the  pleasure  theory  (see  p.  125). 
The  Hedonistic  assumption  is  so  confidently  embraced 
by  Mr.  Spencer,  that  it  might  be  supposed  that  biology 
had  brought  new  facts  to  its  support.  We  may,  there- 
fore, first  ask  whether  biology  has  brought  to  light  any 
new  facts  which  might  support  the  main  contention  of 
psychological  Hedonism  that  pleasure  is  the  only  thing 
desired.  Now  so  far  is  this  from  being  the  case,  that  the 
conclusions  of  biology  go  on  all  fours  with  the  results 
of  our  previous  criticism  of  this  theory.  They  show  that 
impulse  and  desire  precede  the  feeling  of  pleasure,  and 
not  vice  versa.  Pleasure  indeed  follows  upon  successful 
effort:  it  is  the  sign  of  it;  but  the  impulse  or  desire  to 
exercise  the  function  precedes  and-conditions  the  pleas- 
ure, not  vice  versa.  In  human  life  the  object  gives  us 
pleasure,  in  the  first  instance,  because  we  desire  it;  we  do 
not  desire  it  because  it  gives  us  pleasure.*  We  may,  of 
course,  make  the  pleasure  our  object.     We  may  use  the 

*  This  is  the  explanation  of  the  so-called  "  paradox  of  Hedonism," 
viz.,  that  the  only  way  to  secure  pleasure  is  not  to  aim  at  it  (see 
Mill's  Autobiography,  p.  142).  It  is  really  its  refutation.  For  an 
early  statement  of  this  truth,  see  Butler's  Sermons,  XI.:  "That  all 
particular  appetites  and  passions  are  towards  external  things  them- 
selves, distinct  from  the  pleasure  arising  from  them,  is  manifest  from 
hence;  that  there  could  not  be  this  pleasure  were  it  not  for  that 
prior  suitableness  between  the  object  and  the  passion :  there  could 
be  no  enjoyment  or  delight  from  one  thing  more  than  another,  from 
eating  food  more  than  from  swallowing  a  stone,  if  there  were  not  an 
affection  or  appetite  to  one  thing  more  than  another." 


Ch.  Ill]  Evolutionary  Hedonism  137 

organs  {e.g.,  of  taste  and  digestion)  in  order  to  enjoy 
the  pleasure  of  the  exercise  of  their  functions.  But 
this  is  unnatural,  and,  in  the  strict  sense  of  the  word, 
"preposterous."  Nature  herself  protests  against  it  by 
impairing  and,  if  we  persist,  destroying  the  organs; 
perhaps  ourselves  along  with  them. 

Nor  can  it  be  replied  that,  though  desire  must  precede 
\)!\t  feeling  of  pleasure,  yet  desire  itself  is  the  result  of  felt 
uneasiness,  and  is  therefore,  even  its  most  primitive  form, 
an  effort  to  escape  from  pain.  For  the  natural  instinct 
or  longing  is  itself  again  the  condition  of  the  felt  pain, 
not  vice  versa.  It  is,  of  course,  true,  as  we  have  already 
seen,*  that  the  "  tension  "  between  the  pain  of  the  present 
state,  and  the  pleasure  of  the  anticipated  realisation. of 
the  object  desired,  is  an  element  in  the  phenomenon 
of  desire,  and  that  this  tension  may  itself  be  said  to 
be  predominantly  painful;  but  what  is  maintained  is, 
that  this  pain,  in  so  far  as  it  is  an  element  in  desire, 
is  conditional  on  the  natural  instinct  or  impulse  towards 
the  object,  and  not  vice  versa.  We  may,  of  course, 
make  the  escape  from  pain  or  uneasiness  the  motive 
of  an  act,  just  as  we  may  make  pleasure  our  motive; 
but  this  is  not  a  .normal  motive  of  action,  and  in  the 
ordinary  round  of  daily  activities,  and  especially  in  the 
higher  forms  of  activity,  as  in  scientific  investigation  or 
artistic  production,  it  can  hardly  be  said  to  have  a  place 
at  all. 

(2)  On  the  Hedonistic  assumption,  ^^ Increase  of  Life'' 
cannot  he  proved  to  be  desirable.  But  setting  this  psy- 
chological question  aside,  and  admitting  that  there  may 
be  other  objects  of    desire  besides  personal  pleasure, 

*  See  p.  47. 


138  Ethics  [Bk.  Ill 

it  is  still  contended  by  the  supporter  of  the  view  under 
discussion  that  the  ultimate  end  which  all  seek  is  the 
greatest  pleasure.  What  gives  value  to  that  "  increase 
of  life  "  which,  as  the  end  of  evolution,  is  to  be  the  por- 
tion of  the  "  completely  adapted  man  in  the  completely 
evolved  society,"  is  the  increase  of  pleasure  which  it 
brings  with  it. 

Now,  in  reference  to  this  contention,  it  might  be  asked 
whether,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  this  "  increase  of  life  "  does 
bring  increase  of  happiness.  Are  the  more  highly  devel- 
oped nations  and  individuals  "happier "  than  the  less 
developed.  It  might  indeed  be  argued  that  the  greater 
the  variety  of  powers  and  capacities  developed  in  man- 
kind, the  greater  the  capacities  of  enjoyment.  But  that  is 
just  the  point  that  is  contested;  and,  as  is  well  known,  an 
influential  philosophy  has  been  built  upon  the  opposite 
theory,  that  "he  that  increaseth  knowledge  increaseth 
sorrow."  Without  subscribing  to  Pessimism,*  we  may 
fairly  doubt  whether  more  highly  developed  powers 
of  mind  and  conscience  necessarily  bring  with  them 
increase  of  happiness.  It  is  quite  certain  that  they  are 
apt  to  throw  the  individual  or  the  nation  possessing  them 
into  situations  where  the  sacriiice  af  happiness  seems  to 
be  required;  so  that,  as  Mr.  Stephen  admits,  to  exhort 
a  man  to  virtue  may  be  "to  exhort  him  to  acquiie  a 
faculty  which  will,  in  many  cases,  make  him  less  fit  than 
the  less  moral  man  for  getting  the  greatest  amount  of 
happiness  from  a  given  combination  of  circumstances." 
And  generally  it  may  be  questioned  whether,  besides  the 
two  dimensions  of  life  which  Mr.  Spencer  mentions  as 
belonging  to  it  at  its  highest  development,  "  length  and 

*  As  has  been  wittily  said,  "  If  Pessimism  be  true,  it  differs  from 
other  truths  bv  its  uselessness."' 


Ch.  Ill]  Evoliiiionary  Hedonism  139 

breadth,"  *  there  is  not  a  third,  viz.,  depth,  which,  what- 
ever we  are  to  say  of  the  others,  may  be  a  minus  quan- 
tity as  regards  pleasure,  and  anything  that  could  go  by 
the  name  of  happiness.f 

Nor  can  it  be  said  in  reply  that  the  pain  which  such 
highly  developed  types  involve  is  the  result  of  social 
maladjustment,  which  ex  hypothesi  is  excluded  in  a 
society  where  a  perfect  equilibrium  between  function 
and  environment  has  been  established.  For,  again,  this 
hypothesis  is  open  to  grave  doubt.  Can  it  be 
shown  that  progress  is  towards  such  a  state  of  stable 
equilibrium?  Is  such  a  "completely  adapted  man"  as 
Mr.  Spencer  supposes  J  a  possible  conception?  That 
progress  means  the  establishment  of  equilibrium  between 
ever  higher  and  more  differentiated  functions  in  society 
and  the  individual  is  undoubted;  but  it  is  equally  un- 
doubted that  in  each  case  the  equilibrium  is  established 
only  to  be  broken  into  again  by  new  forces  which  have 
to  be  equilibrated,  new  differences  that  have  to  be 
reconciled.  Of  an  absolute  and  final  equilibrium  of  the 
kind  demanded,  from  which  pain  and  conflict  will  be 

*  Data  of  Ethics,  p.  25. 

t  "Odd,"  says  the  doctor  in  Margaret  Deland's  clever  novel 
Sydney,  "  that  it  is  the  sight  of  trouble  which  makes  me  want  to 
hve  more  earnestly;  for  the  deeper  you  live,  the  more  trouble  you 
have.  But  I  suppose  trouble  is  a  man's  birthright,  and  instinct 
makes  him  seek  it."  Cp.  passage  quoted  from  Roviola,  in  Green's 
Fro  I  eg.  to  Ethics,  p.  404  «. 

X  See  the  whole  chapter  on  "  Al^solute  and  Relative  Ethics  "  in 
Data  of  Ethics,  with  which  may  be  compared  the  earlier  and  more 
uncompromising  statement  of  the  same  doctrine,  Social  Statics, 
Part  I.,  ch.  i.  For  a  criticism  of  it  see  Sidgwick's  Methods  of 
Ethics,  Book  I.,  ch.  ii.,  §  2,  and  art.  in  Mind,  XVIII.,  pp.  222-6. 
See  also  p.  141  n.  below. 


140  Ethics  [Bk.  hi 

excluded,  evolution  knows  nothing.  The  only  analogue 
to  it  in  nature  is  death.  Where  there  is  life  there  is 
progress.  In  death  alone  (individual  or  national)  there 
is  final  equilibrium.  Here  alone  there  is  no  change  and 
development  in  the  organism,  requiring  readjustment  to 
an  environment  which  is  different  because  the  organism 
is  different.  In  regard  to  social  progress,  we  have  no 
warrant  for  believing  that  individual  aspiration  after  a 
higher  form  of  life  than  the  environment  admits  of  will 
not  keep  pace  with  the  progress  already  attained,  and  that 
struggle  and  sacrifice,  with  the  pain  that  they  involve, 
will  not  be  the  permanent  portion  of  the  more  highly 
developed,  i.e.,  the  more  moral,  individuals.* 

But  even  though  we  admit  the  possibility  of  a  society 
so  completely  adapted  to  its  environment,  and  consisting 
of  will  so  completely  harmonised  with  one  another,  that 
every  element  of  pain,  even  that  expressed  by  the  word 
obligation, t  will  disappear,  it  might  still  be  questioned 
whether  such  a  society  is  one  which  man,  as  man,  can 
take  as  his  ideal.  If  it  be  true  that  man  by  his  nature 
is  progressive,  that  the  strain  and  accompanying  un- 
pleasantness of  the  endeavour  to  realise  himself  in  ever 
higher  forms  is  a  necessary  element  in  his  life  and  not 
merely  a  transitory  accident;  if  it  be  true  that  it  is  of 
the  essence  of  man  to  be 

"  hurled 

From  change  to  change  unceasingly, 

His  soul's  wings  never  furled," — 

then  the  scientific  Utopia  of  Mr.  Spencer  may  prove,  as 

*  The  above  argument  must  not  be  interpreted  as  intended  to 
prove  that  development  is  not  desirable,  but  merely  that,  on  the  Hedo- 
nistic hypothesis,  it  is  not  possible  to  prove  its  desirableness. 

t  See  Data  of  Ethics,  §  46  fin. 


Ch.  Ill]  Evolutionary  Hedonism  141 

a  moral  ideal,  to  be  as  uninviting  and  inoperative  as  the 
economic  i)aradise  of  M.  Godin*  or  Mr.  Bellamy,  or  the 
"Nowhere  "  from  which  Mr.  Morris  brings  us  news.f 

(3)  Defect  of  Method  having  its  source  in  failure  to 
distinguish  Science  of  Causes  and  Science  of  Ends.  A 
third  and  more  serious  question  is  suggested  by  the 
claim  that  is  put  forward  by  evolutionary  ethics  to  be 
"rational,"  as  opposed  to  the  older  form  of  utilitarian- 
ism, which  is  "  empirical."  \  For  when  we  inquire  what 
the  critics  have  to  say  in  turn  of  the  evolutionists' 
theory,  we  find  that  this  is  precisely  the  objection  which 
they  urge  against  it:  it  is  empirical  or  experimental,  as 
opposed  to  the  view  which  they  themselves  support. § 

In  order  to  understand  the  force  of  this  objection  it 
is  necessary  to  inquire  more  precisely  than  we  have 
hitherto  done  into  what  is  meant  by  the  claim  put 
forward  by  the  evolutionist  writers  to  have  advanced 
beyond  empiricism,  and  to  have  set  morality  on  a  rational 
basis.  Mr.  Spencer  is  at  pains  to  explain  his  meaning. 
As  opposed  to  early  or  empirical  science,  he  points  out 

*  See  Gronlund's  criticism,  Our  Destiny,  ch.  i.,  §  8. 

t  Besides  the  other  advance  (mentioned  p.  128  «.)  which  marks 
Mr.  Stephen's  presentation  of  evolutionary  ethics,  it  possesses  the 
further  advantage  over  Mr.  Spencer's  in  relegating  absolute  or  Utopian 
ethics  to  the  lumber-room  of  ethical  speculation.  "The  attempt 
to  establish  an  absolute  coincidence  between  virtue  and  happiness 
is  in  ethics  what  the  attempting  to  square  the  circle  or  to  discover 
perpetual  motion  is  in  geometry  or  mechanics  "  (^Science  of  Ethics, 
p.  430).  Mr.  Alexander  {^Morai  Order  and  Progress,  pp.  266  foil.) 
criticises  it  even  more  severely  as  founded  on  a  misconception  of 
the  meaning  of  "  adaptation  to  environment." 

J  Data  of  Ethics,  1st  Ed.,  p.  312,  and  elsewhere. 

§  See  Sorley's  Ethics  of  A^aturalism,  ch.  ix. ;  Courtney's  Con- 
structive Ethics,  p.  273,  and  elsewhere. 


142  Ethics  [Bk.  Ill 

that  all  developed  science  may  be  characterised  as  a 
priori  or  rational,  "  if  the  drawing  of  deductions  from 
premisses  positively  ascertained  by  induction  is  to  be  so 
called."  He  illustrates  the  distinction  from  the  case  of 
astronomy :  "  During  its  early  stages,  planetary  astron- 
omy consisted  of  nothing  more  than  accumulated  obser- 
vations respecting  the  positions  and  motions  of  the  sun 
and  planets,  from  whichaccumulated  observations  it  came 
by-and-by  to  be  empirically  predicted,  with  an  approach 
to  truth,  that  certain  of  the  heavenly  bodies  would  have 
certain  positions  at  certain  times.  But  the  modern 
science  of  planetary  astronomy  consists  of  deductions 
from  the  law  of  gravitation, — deductions  showing  why  the 
celestial  bodies  necessarily  occupy  certain  places  at  cer- 
tain tim-es.  Now  the  kind  of  relation  which  thus  exists 
between  ancient  and  modern  astronomy  is  analogous  to 
the  kind  of  relation  which  I  conceive  exists  between  the 
expediency  morality,  and  moral  science  properly  so 
called."  The  distinction  here  referred  to  is  familiar  to 
the  student  of  logic*  A  simpler  instance  of  it  is  the 
difference  between  the  discovery  by  direct  experiment, 
e.g.,  upon  a  billiard  ball,  that  two  forces  of  a  given 
magnitude  acting  upon  it  at  a  given  angle  to  one 
another  produce  movement  bearing  a  certain  uniform 
relation  to  their  respective  direction  and  amount,  and 
the  inference,  drawn  from  the  known  law  of  the  effect 
of  each  of  the  forces  taken  singly,  as  to  what  will  be  the 
law  of  their  joint  effect.  The  former  is  an  empirical 
generalisation,  the  latter  is  a  deduction. 

Now  it  is  to  be  observed  that  this  distinction  lies 
within  the  field  of  what  are  commonly  called  the  natural 

*  See  especially  Mill's  Logic,  Book  III.,  ch.  ix. 


Ch.  Ill]  Evolutionary  Hedonism  143 

sciences,  i.e.,  the  sciences  which  deal  with  the  laws  of 
causal  connection  between  natural  phenomena.  It  refers 
to  different  modes  of  arriving  at  these  laws.  By  the  term 
empirical  is  meant  the  method  of  simple  observation, 
without  analysis  of  the  phenomenon  under  investigation 
into  its  constituent  elements;  by  the  term  deductive, 
ratiocinative,  or  a  priori,  the  method  which  proceeds 
from  the  real  or  supposed  laws  of  the  action  of  each 
constituent  taken  separately  to  deduce  the  law  of  their 
action  when  combined. 

But  there  is  another  sense  of  the  word  "  empirical  " 
in  which  it  is  applied  to  those  sciences  which  deal  with 
efificient  causes,  i.e.,  with  results  effected  by  a  vis  a  tergo, 
as  opposed  to  those  which  deal  with  ends  or  final  causes 
— with  the  effects  of  the  thought  or  idea  of  a  terminus 
ad  quem.  In  this  sense  all  the  sciences,  which  deal  with 
phenomena  as  such,  are  empirical;  those,  on  the  other 
hand,  which  deal  with  phenomena  as  intended,  i.e.,  as 
consciously  conceived  in  reference  to  an  end,  are  teleo- 
logical  or  rational.  Instances  of  the  former  are  physics 
and  biology  in  all  their  branches;  instances  of  the 
latter,  ethics,  politics,  and  the  theories  of  art,  knowl- 
edge, and  religion.  This  all-important  distinction  has 
not  been  sufficiently  recognised  by  evolutionist  writers. 
Entangling  themselves  at  the  outset  with  the  assump- 
tion that  the  actions  of  men  are  determined,  like 
those  of  animals,  by  pleasures  and  pains  as  by  efficient 
causes,  instead  of  by  the  idea  of  an  end,  i.e.,  by  a  final 
cause,  they  have  confused  the  issue,  and  are  still  open  to 
the  charge  of  being  empi'-ical,  though  in  a  different  and 
more  serious  sense.  "The  doctrine  of  evolution  itself," 
it  has  been  well  said,  "  when  added  to  empirical  morality, 
only  widens  our  view  of  the  old  landscape — does  not 


144  Ethics  [Bk.  hi 

enable  us  to  pass  from  'is'  to  'ought,'  or  from  efficient 
to  final  cause,  any  more  than  the  telescope  can  point 
beyond  the  sphere  of  spatial  quantity."* 

We  have  already  seen  how  the  moral  laws  which 
are  the  "data  of  ethics"  can  only  spring  from  such 
a  conception  of  an  end.  We  have  further  seen  how 
such  an  end  must  be  a  personal  good,  i.e.,  the  realisa- 
tion or  satisfaction  of  the  self.  Lastly,  we  have  seen 
how  this  satisfaction  cannot  be  sought  in  any  mere 
state  of  feeling.  The  last  result  is  practically  accepted 
by  the  evolutionist,  when  he  proposes  to  substitute 
for  greatest  pleasure  the  end  of  "social  health"  or 
"  increase  of  life. "  But  in  rejecting  this  element  of  error 
in  the  older  utilitarianism,  he  has  also  dropped  the  ele- 
ment of  truth  which  it  represented,  viz.,  that  the  end 
must  be  a  form  of  personal goo^.^  It  is  perfectly  open  to 
him  to  point  out,  as  none  have  done  so  admirably,  that 
the  "person"  cannot  be  conceived  of  as  an  isolated 
atom,  and  that  the  end  cannot  be  the  isolated  gratifica- 
tion of  any  one  or  of  any  number  of  such  atoms;  but  this 
only  means  that  the  "good"  of  the  individual  must  be 
also  a  common  good.  It  cannot  mean  that  the  good  is 
not  a  personal  one.  If  it  does,  the  theory  simply  means 
that  it  is  impossible  to  deduce  any  moral  law  from  the 
conception  of  end,  i.e.,  to  have  any  science  of  ethics  in 
the  proper  sense.  Yet  this  is  precisely  the  difiiculty  in 
which  evolutionary  ethics,  in  the  writings  of  its  leading 
exponents,  has  landed  us.  Our  objection  to  their  con- 
clusions is  not  that  they  apply  evolution  to  conscience 

*  Sorley,  op.  cit.,  p.  273.  Cp.  Sidgwick's  art.  on  "  Mr.  Spencer's 
Ethical  System,"  Mind,  XVIII. 

t  For  criticisms  founded  on  this  defect  see  Royce,  Religious  Aspect 
of  Philosophy,  pp.  74-85;    Dewey,  op.  cit.,  pp.  71-8. 


Ch.  Ill]  Evolutionary  Hedonism  145 

and  the  forms  of  morality,  still  less  that  they  widen  our 
view  of  the  nature  of  self  and  give  us  a  new  insight  into 
the  nature  of  pleasure,  but  that  they  cling  to  the  empiri- 
cal point  of  view,  and  so  fail  to  get  the  full  meaning  out 
of  their  own  results.  The  "health,"  "vitality,"  "adapta- 
tion," or  what  not,  "  of  the  social  organism,"  are  valuable 
formula;  in  helping  us  to  define  the  contents  of  "the 
good."  As  anything  more,  they  are  abstractions  without 
relation  to  the  moral  end. 

What  is  required  to  complete  the  evolutionist  theory 
is  (i)  once  and  for  all  to  renounce  Hedonism  and  all  its 
works;  (2)  to  add  to  its  empirical  demonstration  that  the 
individual  is  essentially  social  a  teleological  demonstra- 
tion that  his  good  is  essentially  a  common  good.  In  a 
previous  chapter  we  showed  the  way  in  respect  to  the 
former,  the  next  chapter  will  deal  with  the  latter 
desideratum. 


Note. 

In  illustration  of  the  defect  of  evolutionary  ethics  which  is  pointed 
out  in  the  text,  the  important  admissions  made  by  Mr.  Stephen  in  his 
section  on  Self-Sacrifice,  op.  at.,  p.  426  onward,  may  be  quoted: 
"  When  we  say  to  a  man, '  This  is  right,'  we  cannot  also  say  invariably 
and  unhesitatingly,  'This  will  be  for  your  happiness.'  The  cold- 
hearted  and  grovelling  nature  has  an  argument  which,  from  its  own 
point  of  view,  is  not  only  victorious  in  practice,  but  logically 
unanswerable.  Not  only  is  it  impossible  to  persuade  people  to 
do  right  always, — a  matter  of  fact  as  to  which  there  is  not  likely 
to  be  much  dispute, — but  there  is  no  argument  in  existence  which, 
if  exhibited  to  them,  would  always  appear  to  be  conclusive.  A 
thoroughly  selfish  man  prefers  to  spend  money  on  gratifying  his 
own  senses  which  might  save  some  family  from  misery  and 
starvation.  He  prefers  to  do  so,  let  us  say,  even  at  the  cost  of 
breaking  some  recognised  obligation — of  telling  a  lie  or  stealing. 


146  Ethics  [Bk.  Ill 

How  can  we  argue  with  him  ?  By  pointing  out  the  misery  which 
he  causes?  If  to  point  it  out  were  the  same  thing  as  to  make  him 
feel  it,  the  method  might  be  successful;  and  we  may  hold  that 
there  is  no  reasonable  being  who  has  not,  at  least,  the  germs  of  sym- 
pathetic feeling,  and  therefore  no  one  who  is  absolutely  inaccessible 
to  such  appeals.  But  neither  can  we  deny,  without  flying  in  the  face 
of  all  experience,  that  in  a  vast  number  of  cases  the  sympathies  are 
so  feeble  and  intermittent  as  to  supply  no  motive  capable  of  encoun- 
tering the  tremendous  force  of  downright  selfishness  in  a  torpid 
nature.  Shall  we  then  appeal  to  some  extrinsic  motive — to  the  dan- 
ger of  being  found  out,  despised,  and  punished?  Undoubtedly,  that 
will  be  effective  as  far  as  it  goes.  But  if  for  any  reason  the  man  is 
beyond  the  reach  of  such  dangers;  if  he  is  certain  of  escaping  detec- 
tion, or  so  certain  that  the  chance  of  punishment  does  not  outweigh 
the  chance  of  impunity,  he  may  despise  our  arguments,  and  we  have 
no  more  to  offer.  .  .  .  Against  some  people,  in  short,  the  only  effec- 
tive arguments  are  the  gallows  or  the  prison.  Unluckily,  they  are 
arguments  which  cannot  be  brought  to  bear  with  all  the  readiness 
desirable,  and  therefore  I  think  it  highly  probable  that  there  will  be 
bad  men  for  a  long  time  to  come.  ...  By  acting  rightly,  I  admit, 
even  the  virtuous  man  will  sometimes  be  making  a  sacrifice;  and  I 
do  not  deny  it  to  be  a  real  sacrifice;  I  only  deny  that  such  a  state- 
ment will  be  conclusive  for  the  virtuous  man.  His  own  happiness 
is  not  his  sole  ultimate  aim.  .  .  .  There  is  scarcely  any  man,  I 
believe,  at  all  capable  of  sympathy  or  reason  (^sic),  who  would  not, 
in  many  cases  unhesitatingly,  sacrifice  his  own  happiness  for  a  suffi- 
cient advantage  to  others"  (pp.  429,  431).  In  this  passage  the 
following  points  are  worthy  of  notice :  (i)  That  Mr.  Stephen  still 
lingers  by  the  notion  that  happiness  (though  not  necessarily  the  indi- 
vidual's) is  the  end.  (2)  That  while  it  is  true  that  the  hr.ppiness  of 
the  individual  and  happiness  of  others  normally  coincide,  yet  they 
are  different,  and  however  near  they  come  to  one  another,  we  can 
never  be  sure  that  they  are  one  and  will  follow  the  same  path. 
That  which  unites  them  in  the  good  man  "  is  sympathy,"  i.e.^  a  feeling. 
(3)  Hence,  to  one  who  has  not  the  feeling,  there  is  no  argument  for 
unselfish  adherence  to  the  right  which  would  appear  conclusive.  To 
which  the  reply  is,  "  Of  course  not,  if  the  connection  between  others' 
happiness  and  one's  own  is  a  feeling."  You  cannot  tell  a  man  he 
ought  to  have  this  feeling.     It  is  sufficient  that  he  has  not  got  it. 


Ch.  Ill]  Evolutionary  Hedonism  147 

"  Ought,"  in  fact,  has  disappeared  from  our  vocabulary.  But  what  if 
the  end  is  not  properly  described  as  happiness,  but  as  well-being  or 
good;  and  the  connection  between  individual  and  social  good  is  not 
the  subjective  one  of  feeling,  but,  as  Mr.  Stephen  inadvertently  him- 
self suggests,  the  objective  one  of  "  reason  "  ?  Supposing  that  pleas- 
ure, whether  egoistic  or  altruistic,  is  not  his  end,  but  that  it  is  in 
virtue  of  his  being  rational,  not  in  virtue  of  Vvi  feeling  sympathy,  that 
we  appeal  to  a  man  to  set  aside  selfish  considerations,  we  are  no  longer 
left  to  seek  for  "  arguments  "  to  convince  him  that  in  following  the 
"  right "  he  is  securing  his  own  greatest  happiness.  We  do  not  appeal 
to  his  sentient  nature  at  all,  but  to  his  reason.  It  is  on  the  ground  of 
his  being  a  rational  self,  incapable  by  his  very  nature  of  finding  satis- 
faction in  gratified  feeling,  that  we  are  justified  in  setting  aside  all 
"  arguments  "  founded  on  comparison  of  pleasures,  and  appealing 
directly  to  an  "ought."  Apart  from  this  rational  self,  which  can  be 
shown  to  be  essentially  social,  and  therefore  only  capable  of  finding 
satisfaction  in  a  common  good,  there  can  be  no  categorical  imperative 
and  no  morality. 

The  form  into  which  W.  K.  Clifford  threw  the  evolutionist  doctrine 
marks  a  stage  of  advance  both  upon  Mr.  Stephen's  and  upon  Mr. 
Spencer's  statement  of  it,  in  that  he  comes  nearer  than  either  to  the 
view  that  right  is  founded  upon  the  contrast  between  a  true,  or  ex- 
tended, and  a  false,  or  constricted  self.  In  the  following  passage  he 
applies  hi^  doctrine  of  "  the  tribal  self"  to  solve  a  similar  difficulty  to 
that  which  Mr.  Stephen  discusses  above.  " '  If  you  want  to  live 
together  in  thi;:  complicated  way  '  (called  society),  'your  ways  must 
be  straight,  and  not  crooked;  you  must  seek  the  truth,  and  love  no 
lie.'  Suppose  we  answer,  '  I  don't  want  to  live  together  with  other 
men  in  this  complicated  way;  and  so  I  shall  not  do  as  you  tell  me,' — 
that  is  not  the  end  of  the  matter,  as  it  might  be  with  other  scientific 
precepts.  For  obvious  reasons,  it  is  right  in  this  case  to  reply, 
'  Then,  in  the  name  of  my  people,  I  do  not  like  you,'  and  to  express 
this  dislike  by  appropriate  methods.  And  the  offender,  being 
descended  from  a  social  race,  is  unable  to  escape  his  conscience,  the 
voice  of  his  tribal  self,  which  says,  '  In  the  name  of  the  tribe,  I  hate 
myself  for  this  treason  which  I  have  done  '  "  (^Essays  and  Lectures, 
"On  the  Scientific  Basis  of  Morals").  We  have  here  got  beyond 
the  pleasure  theory;  we  have  further  exchanged  the  empirical  for 
the  teleological  point  of  view,  in  so  far  as  the  "self"  is  made  the 


148  Ethics  [Bk.  Ill 

centre  of  interest.  All  that  is  wanted  is  to  ask  what  is  implied  in 
the  idea  of  such  a  self.  This,  to  a  certain  extent,  Clifford  does  in 
his  Essay  on  "  Cosmic  Emotion,"  where  it  is  shown  to  imply  a  con- 
sciousness of  a  universal  moral  order.  His  early  death  probably  lost 
us  the  opportunity  of  seeing  evolutionary  ethics  discarding  in  propria 
'•ersona  the  worn-out  raiment  of  the  empirical  philosophy. 


BOOK    IV 

THE  END  AS   GOOD 


CHAPTER   I 

THE    END    AS    COMMON    GOOD 

§  (i2.    Summary  of  Results 

We  may  now  sum  up  the  results  which  our  analysis  and 
criticism  have  hitherto  enabled  us  to  reach  : — (i)  The 
standard  of  morality  is  primarily  an  end,  not  a  law. 
Moral  law  is  valid  as  flowing  from  the  conception  of  a 
moral  end,  which  cannot  be  mere  obedience  to  law, 
whether  supposed  to  be  given  by  another  or  by  self  in 
the  form  of  conscience.  (2)  The  end  is  an  ideal  of 
self.  As  all  voluntary  action  has  some  form  of  good  for 
its  aim,  and  all  consciously  conceived  good  may  be 
described  as  realisation  of  self  in  one  form  or  another, 
conduct  which  is  judged  to  be  absolutely,  i.e.,  morally, 
good  is  conduct  whose  end  is  the  highest  good,  which 
again  may  be  described  as  the  realisation  of  the  highest 
self.  The  sumnium  bonuni  is  to  realise  the  summits  ego. 
(3)  The  ideal  self  cannot  be  realised  in  the  state  of 
pleasant  consciousness  which  results  from  the  most 
complete  satisfaction  of  the  desire  for  pleasure;  nor  yet 
in  the  most  complete  determination  by  reason  apart 
from  all  desire;  but  in  the  subordination  of  the  desires 
according  to  the  law  of  the  self  as  an  organic  unity.  (4). 
Finally,  we  have  already  made  some  headway,  under  the 

151 


152  Ethics  [Bk.  IV 

lead  of  the  evolutionist  writers,  in  proving  that  the  self  as 
thus  defined  is  not  an  isolated  atom,  but  is  only  com- 
prehensible as  a  member  of  a  society,  whose  moral 
judgments  reflect  a  moral  order  already  established  in  its 
environment.  But  as  the  prejudice  against  the  concep- 
tion of  the  self  as  essentially  social,  and  of  moral  judg- 
ments as  only  intelligible  in  relation  to  an  objective 
moral  order,  is  so  inveterate,  I  shall  devote  part  of  this 
chapter  to  its  further  elucidation,  as  a  preparation  for  the 
further  definition  of  the  end. 

§  63.    Current  Distinction  between  Self  and  Society 

The  current  opinion*  is  that,  while  it  requires  a  meta- 
physician like  Hobbes  to  trace  back  all  the  elements  and 
instincts  of  human  nature  to  the  egoistic  desire  for  pleas- 
ure, it  is  yet  possible  to  divide  them  psychologically  into 
two  distinct  classes,  the  egoistic,  or  self-regarding,  and 
the  altruistic,  or  other-regarding.  Of  the  former  type  we 
have  the  instinct  of  self-preservation  and  of  the  acquisi- 
tion of  property.  Of  the  latter  we  have  types  in  benev- 
olence and  sympathy.  Similarly,  there  is  the  obvious 
social  distinction  beween  man  and  the  state,  the  in- 
dividual and  society.  On  the  one  hand,  we  have  the 
"  rights  of  man."  The  individual  is  supposed  to  be  born 
into  the  world  with  certain  natural  rights  belonging  to 
him  as  an  individual.  These  are  the  germ  of  that 
system  of  conventional  or  artificial  rights  with  which  in 
any  civilised  country  the  law  courts  invest  him.f     On 

*  Not  unsupported  by  the  highest  scientific  authorities,  as  when 
Mr.  Spencer  represents  human  nature  as  the  battle-ground  of  two 
permanently  antithetical  forces  of  egoism  and  altruism. 

t  The  natural  rights  of  man  apparently  are  liberty,  property, 
security,  and  "  Resistance  of  Oppression."     See  Declaration  of  the 


Ch.  I]  The  End  as   Common   Good  153 

the  other  hand,  as  securing  to  him  the  enjoyment  of  his 
natural  rights  by  means  of  the  police  and  the  law  courts, 
the  state  has  a  certain  limited  right  of  taxation  and 
control  over  individuals.  One  of  the  chief  questions  for 
the  political  philosopher  is,  it  is  supposed,  to  define  the 
limits  which  the  state  must  observe  in  interfering  with 
the  natural  rights  of  individuals.  The  quintessence  of 
wisdom  in  this  field  is  sometimes  declared  to  be  to  rec- 
ognise that,  inasmuch  as  rights  belong  to  man  naturally 
and  not  in  virtue  of  any  connection  with  the  artificial 
organisation  of  society  and  state,  the  state  has  really 
no  business  to  interfere  at  all. 

It  is  not  difficult  to  show  that  these  distinctions, 
though  relatively  valid,  as  giving  us  different  points  of 
view  from  which  it  may  be  useful  to  look  at  psychological 
and  social  facts,  are  misleading  when  taken  as  absolute 
and  final. 

§  64.    Relativity  of  these  Distinctions 

(i)  Egoistic  and  ai/ruistic  passions  and  desires.  Thus, 
in  regard  to  the  psychological  distinctions  referred  to 
above  between  egoistic  and  altruistic  desires,  it  is  easy 
to  show  how  the  thought  of  self  and  the  thought  of 
others  cross  and  interlace  one  another,  in  such  a 
manner  as  to  leave  us  with  only  a  vanishing  distinction 
between  them.  Thus,  nothing  seems  more  individual- 
Rights  of  Man,  quoted  in  Paine's  treatise  on  the  same.  The 
Declaration  of  Rights  in  the  Constitution  of  the  State  of  CaHfornia 
further  adds  the  right  of  "pursuing  and  obtaining  (  !)  happiness." 
See  Bryce's  American  Commomvealth,  Vol.  XL,  p.  643.  As  neces- 
sary corollaries  of  these  some  add  "access  to  the  soil";  others, 
more  generally,  "  access  to  the  means  of  production." 


154  Ethics  [Bk.  iv 

istic  than  the  desire  for  life.  But  the  moment  we 
think  of  it,  we  see  how  in  a  rational  being  it  is  its 
social  significance  that  makes  life  valuable  to  him.  It 
is  doubtful  whether  in  a  moment  of  peril  a  normally 
constituted  individual  thinks  first,  or  even  at  all,  of 
himself,  except  so  far  as  he  is  related  to  others.  His 
thoughts  fly,  e.g.,  to  his  wife  and  family.  When  life  is 
emptied  of  these  relations,  i.e.,  when  it  appears  only  as 
an  egoistic  good,  it  is  no  good  at  all.  It  is  just  its 
emptiness  of  social  content  that  makes  life  appear  so 
worthless  to  the  suicide. 

On  the  other  hand, the  benevolent  desire  for  the  good 
of  others  involves  a  reference  to  self.  By  this  it  is  not 
merely  meant,  as  Professor  Bain  puts  it,  that  "  sympathy 
cannot  exist  upon  the  extreme  of  self-abnegation.  .  .  . 
We  must  retain  a  sufficient  amount  of  the  self-regarding 
element  to  consider  happiness  an  object  worth  striving 
for,"  *  but  that,  as  has  been  already  so  frequently  pointed 
out,  the  object  of  all  desire  is  a  personal  good.  Hence 
it  is  only  as  invoh'ed  in  one's  own  that  one  can  desire 
one's  neighbour's  good:  it  is  only  as  his  good  enters  as 
an  element  into  viy  conception  of  my  good  that  I  can 
make  it  an  object  of  desire  and  volition. 

The  inadequacy  of  such  a  classification  of  the  elements 
of  human  nature  into  egoistic  and  altruistic  is  further  seen 
in  the  difificulty  which  we  should  have  in  classifying  the 
more  violent  forms  of  passion  under  either  head.  Thus 
love  in  its  purer  forms  is  commonly  thought  to  be  an 
altruistic  emotion,  having  for  its  object  the  good  of  the 
loved  object.  Yet  it  may  on  occasions  take  forms  into 
which  the  good  of  the  loved  object  does  not  enter  as  an 

*  Alental  and  Moral  Science,  p.  282. 


Ch.  I]  The  End  as  Common  Good  155 

element.*  Similarly  revenge,  which  is  presumably  upon 
this  classification  to  be  set  down  as  an  egoistic  passion, 
nevertheless  takes  forms  which  involve  the  most  complete 
self-abnegation,  t 

(2)  The  Individual  and  Society.  In  regard  to  the 
relations  of  the  individual  to  society,  it  may  likewise  be 
shown  that  the  independent  rights  put  forward  on  behalf 
of  the  individual,  by  current  individualistic  theories,  are, 
if  taken  literally,  an  arbitrary  assumption.  Whence,  it 
may  be  asked,  does  the  individual  derive  them?  He 
has  them,  it  may  be  said,  by  nature  (the  theory  of 
"natural  rights"  seems  to  imply  this).  "Man,"  said 
Rousseau,  "is  born  free,"  i.e.,  independent  of  the  laws, 
habits,  and  conventions  of  society.  But  this  is  cer- 
tainly not  the  case.  The  child  who  comes  into  the 
world  inherits  everything  he  has  from  a  previous  state 
of  society.  He  owes  everything  he  possesses  to  a  com- 
bination of  forces  and  circumstances  (national,  local, 
and  family  influences)  over  which  he  has  had  no 
control.  It  was  a  favourite  metaphor  with  the  older 
individualistic  writers  to  liken  the  soul  of  the  newly 
born  child  to  a  piece  of  blank  paper,  on  which,  by 
means  of  education,  anything  might  be  written,  and  so  a 

*  In  describing  Romola's  love  for  her  dead  father,  G.  Eliot  says : 
"  Love  does  not  aim  simply  at  the  conscious  good  of  the  beloved 
object:  it  is  not  satisfied  without  perfect  loyalty  of  heart;  it  aiijis 
at  its  own  completeness." 

t  Speaking  of  the  passion  that  consumes  Baldassare  in  the  same 
novel,  G.  Eliot  says:  "  It  is  tlie  nature  of  all  human  passion,  the 
lowest  as  well  as  the  highest,  that  there  is  a  point  where  it  ceases  to 
be  properly  egoistic,  and  is  like  a  fire  kindled  within  our  being,  to 
which  everything  else  in  us  is  mere  fuel."  Similarly  hatred  has 
been  defined  as  "inverted  love";  it  is  often  like  love  in  this,  that 
"  it  seeketh  not  its  own." 


156  Ethics  [Bk.  IV 

perfectly  independent  and  original  character  given  to  the 
individual.  It  would  be  a  more  apt  illustration  of  its 
true  nature  to  compare  it  to  a  word  or  sentence  in  a 
continuous  narrative.  The  soul  comes  into  the  world 
already  stamped  with  a  meaning  determined  by  its 
relation  to  all  that  went  before, — having,  in  other  words, 
a  context  in  relation  to  which  alone  its  character  can  be 
understood.  It  sums  up  the  tendencies  and  traditions 
of  the  past  out  of  which  it  has  sprung, — giving  them, 
indeed,  a  new  form  or  expression,  inasmuch  as  it  is  an 
individual,  but  only  carrying  on  and  developing  their 
.  meaning,  and  not  to  be  understood  except  in  relation  to 
them. 

Or  it  may  be  said  that  man  acquires  these  rights  by 
education.  Knowledge  gives  him  power,  individuality, 
freedom.  This,  of  course,  is  true,  but  not  in  the  sense 
that  with  these  advantages  he  acquires  any  rights  as 
against  society.  On  the  contrary,  the  dependence  of 
the  individual  upon  society  in  the  sense  claimed  is  still 
more  obvious  when  we  consider  what  is  implied  in 
education.  Thus  it  may  be  pointed  out  how  absurd  it 
is  to  speak,  as  is  sometimes  done,  of  a  "  self-educated 
man."  No  one  can  be  said,  in  any  proper  sense,  to 
educate  himself.  Nor  indeed  can  any  individual  properly 
be  said  to  gain  his  education  from  another.  Parent 
or  teacher  can  only  help  to  open  and  interpret  to 
him  the  sources  of  education.  That  education  has 
begun  long  before  it  is  consciously  thought  of,  and 
goes  on  long  after  it  is  supposed  to  be  completed. 
Intellectually  it  consists  from  first  to  last  in  the  appro- 
priation of  a  body  of  knowledge,  not  contained  in  the 
mind  of  any  individual  parent  or  teacher,  but  diffused 
through   the    language   and    literature    of    the    society 


Ch.  ij  The  End  as  Convnon  Good  157 

into  which  the  child  is  born.  The  child  has  not 
to  make  its  own  ideas  about  the  world,  nor  has  the 
parent  or  teacher  to  make  them  for  it.  In  spoken 
language,  which  is  essentially  a  social  institution,*  there 
is  already  a  store-house  of  distinctions  and  generalisa- 
tions which  the  child  begins  by  appropriating.  Its 
thoughts  adapt  themselves  to  the  mould  which  is  here 
prepared  for  them.  They  will  be  accurate  and  adequate 
in  proportion  {a)  to  the  stage  of  accuracy  which  the 
language  has  reached  {i.e.,  the  stage  of  intellectual 
advance  which  the  society  whose  language  it  is  repre- 
sents) ;  {b)  to  the  degree  of  culture  which  the  group  of 
persons  who  form  its  immediate  society  have  attained. 
Not  less  representative  of  social  acquisitions  is  the  writ- 
ten language  of  books.  This  or  that  man  indeed  is  said 
to  write  a  book  :  he  puts  his  name  at  the  beginning  of  it, 
and  his  list  of  authorities  in  the  preface  or  at  the  end. 
But  in  most  cases  it  would  represent  the  fact  more  accu- 
rately if  he  put  the  names  of  his  authorities  on  the  title 
page,  and  stowed  away  his  own  in  some  obscurer  corner. 
All  that  he  has  done,  all  that  he  can  do,  is  to  recast  the 
material  supplied  him  by  the  labour  of  countless  genera- 
tions. His  book  is  at  best  only  a  clever  compilation 
from  these. t 

The  same  remarks  apply  to  the  child's  moral  education. 
Here,  again,  it  is  not  we  who  educate  our  children,  but 
language  with  its  store  of  ready-made  moral  distinctions, 
the  nursery  with  its  "spirit,"  its  laws,  and,  as  Plato 
would  add,  its  pictures  and  songs,  the  family,  the  play- 

*  The  Emperor  Augustus  confessed  that,  with  all  his  power,  he 
was  unable  to  make  a  new  word. 

t  Hence    Emerson    accuses    every   one    of  being    a    plagiarist. 

Everything,  he  says,  is  a  plagiarism, — "  a  house  is  a  plagiarism." 


158  Ethics  [Bk.  IV 

ground,  and  the  church.  These  begin  to  act  upon  the 
child's  moral  life,  forming  or  deforming  it,  at  a  time 
when  direct  verbal  instruction  is  impossible.  From  its 
earliest  infancy,  to  use  a  philosopher's  somewhat  gran- 
diloquent expression,  the  child  "has  been  suckled  at 
the  breast  of  the  Universal  Ethos."* 


§  65.    Further  Illustrations  of  Dependence  of 
Individual  on  Society 

In  industry  this  truth  has  a  still  more  obvious  applica- 
tion. Thus  we  sometimes  hear  in  business  of  a  "self- 
made  man."  But  a  moment's  consideration  makes  it 
obvious  that  it  is  as  impossible  for  a  man  to  "  make  " 
himself  as  we  saw  it  to  be  for  him  to  educate  himself. 
All  he  does  is  to  use  the  opportunities  that  society  offers 
to  him.  Where,  to  look  no  further,  would  his  factory  or 
business  be  but  for  the  police  who  protect  it,  the  laws 
that  secure  him  the  title  deeds,  the  markets  that  supply 
the  raw  material,  the  community  that  supplies  the  labour 
to  work  it,  the  system  of  railways,  harbours,  etc.,  that 
are  the  means  of  disposing  of  the  product?  What  is 
the  share  that  all  these  things,  each  in  its  turn  depending 
for  its  existence  and  efficiency  upon  a  community  of 
organised  wills,  as  well  as  on  the  social  labour  of  many 
generations,  have  in  the  wealth  that  is  produced,  and 
what  is  the  share  of  the  energetic  individual  who  uses 
them?  where  in  all  this  are  we  to  draw  the  line  between 
the  respective  rights  of  the  man  and  of  the  state  ? 

As  a  final  illustration,  we  might  take  the  case  of  great 
men.  These,  at  any  rate,  it  might  be  thought,  are  an 
exception  to  this  dependence  of  the  individual  upon 

*  On  the  subject  of  this  section,  see  Bradley,  op.  cit.,  pp.  145-58. 


Ch.  I]  The  End  as  Cofiiinoii  Good  159 

his  society  and  his  time.  They  stand  out  in  solitary 
independence  of  the  society  in  the  midst  of  which  they 
live.  If  they  have  not  made  themselves,  they  seem  to 
have  been  made  by  God,  and  to  owe  little  or  nothing 
to  their  environment.  Caesar,  Charlemagne,  Napoleon, 
may  thus  be  proved  to  have  been  makers  of  their  social 
environment,  instead  of  having  been  made  by  it.  And 
indeed  there  is  a  sense  in  which  this  is  true.  Such  men 
seem  to  contribute  a  new  element  to  social  progress,  and 
to  leave  the  world  different  from  what  they  found  it. 
But  when  we  look  closer  we  see  that  they  do  so,  not  in 
virtue  of  that  which  separates  them  from  their  time,  but 
of  that  which  unites  them  to  it.  It  is  their  insight  into 
the  wants  of  the  time,  their  sympathy  with  its  blind 
longings  and  aspirations,  that  gives  them  their  power 
over  it.  They  are  closer  to  the  spirit  of  the  time,  and 
the  moral  order  which  that  spirit  represents,  not  further 
away  from  it,  than  common  people.  This  is  the  secret 
of  their  greatness.  It  is  on  this  account  that  they 
"represent"  their  time.*  They  sum  up  and  give  ex- 
pression to  its  tendencies.  It  is  not  so  much  they  who 
act,  as  the  spirit  of  the  time  that  acts  in  them.  The 
permanent  part  of  their  work  (the  establishment  of  an 
empire,  of  a  system  of  education,  or  a  new  social  organi- 
sation) was  "  in  the  air  "  when  the  man  arrived.  He  was 
only  an  instrument  in  giving  effect  to  it. 

§  66.    Ethical  Import  of  These  Facts 

(i)  The  first  consequence  of  the  truth  I  have  been 
illustrating  which  it  is  of  importance  for  us  to  note  is 
that  the  end  which  is  the  standard  of  moral  judgment 

*  Cp.  Ben  Jonson's  apostrophe  to  Shakespeare  as  "  Soul  of  the 
Age." 


i6o  Ethics  [Bk.  IV 

is  a  social  one — the  good  is  common  good.  A  being 
who,  like  man,  is  a  little  higher  than  the  animals,  ''a  little 
lower  than  the  angels,"  can  only  realise  his  own  life  in 
so  far  as  he  realises  the  life  of  the  society  of  which  he 
is  a  member.*  To  maintain  himself  in  isolated  inde- 
l)endence,  to  refuse  to  be  compromised  by  social  relations, 
is  the  surest  way  to  fail  to  realise  the  good  he  seeks. f  To 
seek  life  in  this  sense  is  to  lose  it.  On  the  other  hand, 
a  man  finds  salvation  in  the  duties  of  family,  profession, 
city,  country.  To  lose  his  life  in  these  is  to  find  it.  For 
the  social  fabric  of  which  he  finds  himself  a  part  is  only 
the  fabric  of  his  own  life  "writ  large."  It  is  only  the 
other,  or  objective  side,  of  that  which  subjectively  I 
described  as  the  system  of  his  impulses  and  desires,  as 
controlled  and  organised  by  his  reason.  It  might  seem, 
at  first  sight,  an  illustration  of  an  iguo turn  per  ignotiiis  to 
refer  us  from  the  desires  and  impulses,  which  we  know 
as  parts  of  ourselves,  to  the  vague  field  of  social  rights 
and  duties,  which  appeal  to  us  only  in  a  secondary  way 
through  moral  rules  and  social  conventions,  were  it 
not  for  the  knack  that  these  rights  and  duties  have  of 
grouping  themselves  in  visible  institutions.  Thus,  corre- 
sponding to  the  instinct  of  self-preservation  and  the 
rights  and  duties  it  involves,  civilisation  has  produced 
the  police  and  law  courts;  corresponding  to  the  instinct 
of  propagation,  the  family;  of  acquisition,  property  and 
trade;  of  the  pursuit  of  truth,  the  school,  university,  and 

*  Aristotle  said  that  one  who  is  independent  of  society  is  either 
"  a  god  or  a  beast." 

t  As  a  simple  illustration  of  this  truth,  I  may  quote  the  case  of  a 
man  whose  vote  I  once  solicited  for  one  of  several  strongly  opposed 
candidates  for  the  School  Board.  His  answer  was  that  he  was  an 
independent  man,  and  intended  to  prove  it  by  not  voting  at  all. 


Ch.  I]  The  End  as  Common  Good  i6i 

academy  of  science.  Apart  from  these,  and  the  rights 
and  duties  they  represent,  the  individual  life  shrivels  up 
into  quite  insignificant  proportions;  *  in  connection  with 
them  it  expands  to  the  full  extent  of  its  recognised 
capabilities. 

The  same  truth  might  be  illustrated  from  the  side  of 
vice  and  evil.  As  the  good  of  the  individual  is  the 
common  good,  so  his  evil  is  common  evil.  No  one  can 
neglect  the  duty  he  owes  himself  of  findng  the  equilibrium 
of  his  instincts  and  desires  in  the  due  proportion  of  their 
exercise,  without  failing  in  his  duty  to  society,  and  dis- 
turbing the  equilibrium  of  functions  which  constitute  its 
health  and  well-being.  The  man  who  drinks  away  his 
wages,  and  upsets  the  equilibrium  between  desire  for 
drink  and  desire  for  health,  if  he  fails  of  no  duty  nearer 
home,  deprives  his  trade  or  profession  of  an  efficient 
member,  and  so  is  a  source  of  common  loss  and  evil. 
And  just  as  we  have  the  wholesome  institutions  of  family, 
trade,  the  universities,  etc.,  corresponding  to  the  har-. 
monious  and  proportionate  satisfaction  of  natural  in- 
stincts, so,  corresponding  to  disorganisation  in  the  system 
of  desires,  we  have  the  morbid  growth  of  brothels,  gam- 
bling dens,  cribs,  and  cramming  establishments.! 

(2)  It  is  only  expressing  the  same  truth  in  a  more 
particular  form  to  point  out  that  the  self  is  not  merely 
related  to  society  in  general,  but  that  each  particular  self 
is  related  in  a  special  way  to  the  society  into  which  he  is 

*  Becoming,  as  Hobbes  puts  it,  "  solitary,  poor,  nasty,  brutish, 
short." 

t  It  is  common  to  make  a  distinction  between  sins  of  omission 
and  commission.  If  the  above  account  is  true,  this  is  merely  super- 
ficial. To  omit  a  duty  is  as  much  a  common  evil  as  to  commit  a 
positive  trespass. 


1 62  Ethics  [Bk.  IV 

born.  This  way  is  best  described  under  the  form,  which 
is  not  an  ingenious  metaphor,  but  a  vital  fact,  of  member- 
ship. The  individual  is  not  less  vitally  related  to  society 
than  the  hand  or  the  foot  to  the  body.  Nor  is  it  merely 
that  each  individual  is  dependent  for  life  and  protection 
upon  society,  as  the  hand  or  the  foot  is  dependent  for  its 
nourishment  upon  the  body,  but  he  is  dependent  on  his 
particular  relation  to  society  for  the  particular  form  of 
his  individuality.  It  is  the  function  it  performs  in  virtue 
of  its  special  place  in  the  organism  which  makes  the 
hand  a  hand,  and  the  foot  a  foot.  In  the  same  way  it  is 
his  place  and  function  in  society  that  makes  the  in- 
dividual what  he  is.  He  realises  himself  by  enabling 
society,  through  him,  to  perform  the  particular  function 
which  is  represented  by  his  station  and  its  duties.* 


§  67.    Appeal  to  Moral  Judgments  in  support  of 
Conclusions 

We  have  thus  arrived  at  a  new  statement  of  the 
nature  of  the  self,  which,  as  the  standard  of  moral 
judgment,  I  formerly  described  as  the  permanent  unity 
underlying  the  multiplicity  of  desire.     This,  which  may 

*  See  Bradley,  op.  cit.,  pp.  157-86.  Cp.  Essays  in  Philosophical 
Criticism  (Ed.  Seth  and  R.  B.  Haldame),  "The  Social  Organism," 
by  Professor  Henry  Jones,  esp.  pp.  193,  209  foil.  Dewey  points 
out  that  (i)  the  fulfilment  of  the  duties  of  one's  station,  or,  as  he 
calls  it,  "  adjustment  to  environment,"  can  be  taken  as  a  moral  ideal 
only  on  condition  that  it  means  "willing  the  maintenance  and 
development  of  moral  surroundings  as  one's  own  end";  (2)  The 
function  that  is  thus  performed  serves  at  once  to  define  and  to  unite. 
It  makes  a  man  "  a  distinct  social  member  at  the  same  time  that  it 
makes  him  a  member.  .  .  .  Individuality  means,  not  separation,  but 
defined  position  in  a  whole"  {op.  cit.,  pp.  115  foil.,  137,  138), 


Ch.  I]  The  End  as  Common  Good  163 

have  appeared  a  somewhat  metaphysical  statement,  I 
am  now  able  to  translate  into  the  familiar  language  of 
every-day  life,  in  so  far  as  I  have  shown  that  this 
unity  amid  diversity  assumes  visible  form  in  that  circle 
of  inter-related  duties  which  we  call  a  man's  station  in 
society.  It  remains  merely  to  verify  this  explanation 
of  moral  judgments  by  submitting  it  to  the  test  of  fact, 
and  asking  whether  moral  judgments,  which  we  have 
seen  involve  a  reference  to  a  true  self  or  rational  order 
among  instincts  and  desires,  bear  out  the  interpretation 
I  have  just  given  to  that  self  as  essentially  social  by 
carrying  with  them  a  reference  to  a  society  or  objective 
moral  order  as  well. 

That  this  is  so  with  regard  to  a  large  section  of  our 
moral  judgments  is  obvious.  Injustice,  dishonesty,  un- 
truthfulness, covetousness,  are  all  judged  bad  on  the 
ground  of  the  harm  to  others  they  involve.  So  fully 
has  this  been  recognised,  that  it  has  sometimes  been 
proposed  to  resolve  all  virtue  into  right  relations  with 
our  fellow-men  under  the  common  name  of  Justice, 
Benevolence,  or  Truth.  But  it  is  not  so  clear  that  this 
social  reference  is  universally  present  in  moral  judg- 
ments, when  we  come  to  consider  the  so-called  indi- 
vidualistic virtues  and  the  duties  we  are  said  to  owe  to 
ourselves. 

In  the  next  chapter  I  shall  have  occasion  to  remark 
in  detail  how  these  involve  a  social  reference.  Here  it 
will  be  sufficient  to  take  what  is  regarded  as  the  first 
duty  we  owe  to  ourselves,  the  duty  of  self-preservation. 
And  that  it  may  not  be  obscured  by  obvious  reference 
to  "social  ties,"  which  may  in  a  particular  instance 
"bind  a  man  to  life,"  such  as  his  duty  to  his  wife  and 
family,  we  must  suppose  all  these  ties  have  been  dis- 


164  Ethics  [Bk.  IV 

solved,  and  life  to  have  been  to  all  appearance  emptied 
of  social  significance.  What,  it  may  be  asked,  is  implied 
in  our  judgment  that  suicide  is  wrong  in  such  a  case? 
Ex  hypothesi  there  are  no  relations  that  can  have  any 
claim  upon  the  would-be  suicide.  He  is  without 
friends,  money,  trade,  or  the  hope  of  acquiring  them. 
Here,  if  anywhere,  it  might  be  supposed  our  judgment 
refers  to  the  individual.  In  parting  with  his  life,  he  is 
merely  parting  with  his  own.  If  there  is  a  duty  in  the 
matter,  it  is  merely  a  duty  to  himself.  There  is  no  duty 
to  society,  and  therefore  society  has  no  right  to  interfere 
with  what  is  strictly  his  own  affair.* 

To  all  this  society  in  most  civilised  countries,  as 
is  well  known,  replies,  rudely  enough,  with  the  police- 
man's baton,  the  prison,  or  the  lunatic  asylum.  It 
may  indeed  be  said  that  this  is  no  sufficient  answer 
to  the  claim  that  is  put  forward.  For  the  State  may 
be  wrong.  Its  judgments  in  this  matter  may  not 
be  in  conformity  with  any  true  standard  of  right.  But 
we  have  already  seen  reason  in  the  nature  of  man 
himself  for  believing  that  its  interference  in  this  case 
is  not  without  ethical  justification.  For  if  what  was 
said  in  the  earlier  part  of  this  chapter  be  sound,  no  man 
has  a  right  to  take  his  own  life,  because  no  man  has  a  life 
of  his  own  to  take.  His  life  has  been  given  him,  and  has 
been  made  all  that  it  is,  as  has  been  already  shown,  by 
society.  He  cannot  morally  part  with  it  without  consent 
of  a  society  which  is  joint-owner  with  him  in  it.     He 

*  This,  of  course,  is  constantly  urged  in  defence  of  suicide;  and  if 
we  take  up  the  position  that  certain  duties  rest  on  the  value  which 
life  has  to  the  individual  alone,  it  is  difficult  to  see  what  answer 
there  can  be.  Hence  individualistic  theories  of  ethics,  eg.,  Stoicism, 
have  always  tended  to  justify  suicide. 


Ch.  1]  The  End  as  Common  Good  165 

carries  on  his  life  as  a  joint  concern :  he  cannot  dissolve 
the  partnership  without  the  consent  of  his  partner  in  it.* 
Perhaps  in  the  case  selected  society  may  have  shame- 
fully neglected  its  part.  So  far  society  is  wrong,  and  is 
responsible  for  the  state  to  which  matters  have  come, 
but  this  does  not  absolve  the  individual  from  his  duty  to 
society.     Two  wrongs  do  not  make  a  right. 

§  68.    Duty  to  Humanity 

Nor  do  we  alter  the  social  implication  of  moral  judg- 
ment by  saying  that  the  duty  in  such  cases  is  not  to  the 
state  or  community  to  which  he  belongs,  but  to  God  or 
to  humanity,  for  this  only  brings  into  view  a  wider  aspect 
of  the  moral  order  than  that  which  we  have  hitherto 
considered.  Thus,  to  take  the  latter  contention  first,  to 
speak  of  our  interest  in  humanity  as  the  ground  of  obli- 
gation is  only  to  extend  our  conception  of  what  is  implied 
in  the  moral  order  which  we  call  society.  It  is  to  con- 
ceive of  it  as  reaching  beyond  the  limits  of  any  particular 

*  Cp.  Burke's  famous  description  :  "  Society  is  indeed  a  contract. 
Subordinate  contracts  for  objects  of  mere  occasional  interest  may 
be  dissolved  at  pleasure;  but  the  state  ought  not  to  be  considered  as 
nothing  better  than  a  partnership  agreement  in  a  trade  of  pepper 
and  coffee,  calico  or  tobacco,  or  some  other  such  low  concern,  to  be 
taken  up  for  a  little  temporary  interest,  and  to  be  dissolved  by  the 
fancy  of  the  parties.  It  is  to  be  looked  on  with  other  reverence;' 
because  it  is  not  a  partnership  subservient  only  to  the  gross  animal 
existence  of  a  temporary  and  perishable  nature.  It  is  a  partnership 
in  all  science,  a  partnership  in  all  art,  a  partnership  in  every  virtue 
and  in  all  perfection.  As  the  ends  of  such  a  partnership  cannot  be 
obtained  in  many  generations,  it  becomes  a  partnership  not  only 
between  those  who  are  living,  but  between  those  who  are  living, 
those  who  are  dead,  and  those  who  are  to  be  born." — Reflections  on 
the  Revolution  in  France. 


1 66  Ethics  [Bk.  iv 

time  and  country,  and  as  progressively  realising  itself 
over  the  whole  world  and  through  the  ages.  The  exist- 
ence of  such  an  order  is  not  doubted  by  the  historian. 
History,  in  the  ordinary  sense,  is  the  record  of  the  form 
which  it  takes,  and  the  changes  it  undergoes,  in  a  par- 
ticular age  or  country.  Universal  history  is  the  record 
of  these  forms  and  changes  as  organically  related  to  one 
another,  and  to  the  whole  which  we  call  the  growth  or 
evolution  of  civilisation.* 

Loyalty  to  the  moral  order  in  this  sense  is  involved  in 
loyalty  to  the  narrower  circle  of  duties  which  represent 
it  for  the  individual.  On  the  other  hand,  the  former  is 
impossible  apart  from  the  latter.  It  is  not  possible  to 
do  our  duty  to  humanity,  and  leave  undone  our  duty 
to  our  neiglibour.  Dickens  has  made  us  laugh  over 
Mrs.  Jellyby's  "telescopic  philanthropy."  But  in  his 
humorous  description  of  that  lady's  humanitarian  ec- 
centricities the  novelist  is  only  emphasising  the  truth 
which  the  philosopher  expresses  in  different  language 
when  he  reminds  us  that  "there  is  no  other  genuine  en- 
thusiasm for  humanity  than  one  which  has  travelled  the 
common  highway  of  reason — the  life  of  the  good  neigh- 
bour and  the  honest  citizen — and  can  never  forget  that  it 
is  still  only  a  further  stage  of  the  same  journey."  f 

§  fiO.    Duty  to  God 

In  the  same  way  it  may  be  shown  that  to  speak  of  the 
duties  in  question  as  owed  to  God  and  not  to  society  is 

*  For  a  sketch  of  history  in  this  sense,  see  Hegel's  Philosophy  of 
History  (Bohn's  Library). 

t  T.  H.  Green's  Introd.  to  the  Moral  Fart  of  Hume's  "  Treatise,'^ 
Works,  Vol.  I.,  p.  371. 


Ch.  I]  The  End  as  Common   Good  167 

a  perfectly  legitimate  mode  of  expression  so  long  as 
we  understand  what  we  mean  by  it.  Thus,  it  cannot 
be  meant  that  in  using  it  we  are  introducing  a  new 
conception  of  the  ground  of  obligation.  It  cannot 
be  too  often  repeated  that  the  ground  of  moral 
obligation  is  always  a  personal  interest  in  a  moral 
order.  It  may,  however,  be  legitimate  to  express  this 
truth  in  the  language  of  religion  as  well  as  of  ethics. 
In  the  latter  we  confine  our  view  to  the  moral  order 
which  is  represented  by  particular  societies,  or  by 
humanity  as  a  whole.  But  it  is  possible  to  extend 
our  view  still  further,  and  to  conceive  of  the  establish- 
ment of  moral  relations  and  the  sovereignty  of  con- 
science as  elements  in  the  end  or  final  cause  of  a 
cosmic  process.  In  doing  so  we  pass  from  the  point 
of  view  of  morality  to  that  of  religioLn,  but  no  further 
change  is  involved.  It  is  indeed  sometimes  supposed 
that  there  are  religious  duties  which  are  not  included 
in  the  catalogue  of  moral  duties,  and  that  in  passing 
from  morality  to  religion  we  not  only  change  the  point 
of  view  from  which  duties  are  regarded,  but  extend 
the  range  of  our  obligations.  But  this  is  a  mistake. 
The  particulars  of  conduct,  not  less  than  the  ground 
of  obligation,  are  the  same  whether  we  speak  of  duty 
to  society  or  duty  to  God.  It  is  indeed  true  that 
the  religious  man  may  recognise  duties  which  others 
deny  or  neglect.  Of  these  prayer,  fasting,  and  other 
ceremonial  observances  may  be  quoted  as  instances. 
But  it  ought  to  be  observed  that  it  is  the  import  of  these 
rites  for  morality  which  gives  them  their  importance  for 
religion.  If  this  import  be  recognised  by  the  individual; 
if  it  be  acknowledged,  for  instance,  that  they  serve  an 
important  end  in  purifying  the  affections  or  capturing  the 


1 68  Ethics  [Bk.  iv 

will,*  they  are  not  only  religiously  but  morally  obligatory. 
Apart  from  such  recognition,  not  only  are  they  irrelevant 
to  the  moral,  and  therefore  to  the  religious  life,  they  may 
be  an  actual  hindrance  to  both. 

Is  there  then  no  difference,  it  might  be  asked,  between 
religion  and  morality  ?  Matthew  Arnold,  as  is  well  known, 
sought  to  answer  this  question  in  his  famous  definition 
of  the  former  as  only  "morality  touched  with  emotion." 
But  this,  it  must  be  confessed,  does  not  carry  us  far. 
Emotion  is  not  a  distinctive  mark  of  religious  conduct. 
All  conduct,  as  we  have  already  seen,  is  touched  with 
emotion,t  otherwise  it  would  not  be  conduct  at  all. 
The  distinction  lies  not  in  the  presence  of  an  element 
of  emotion  in  religion  which  morality  is  without,  but  in 
the  kind oi  emotion  present  in  either  case,  and  this  again 
depends  on  the  kind  of  thought  which,  accompanies  the 
performance  of  a  duty.  It  is  the  way  we  think  of  the 
duty,  the  view  we  take  of  it,  that  constitutes  it  simply 
moral  or  also  religious.  Thus,  to  return  to  the  class  of 
duties  from  which  we  started,  an  act  of  self-restraint  or 
self-preservation  might  be  said  to  be  simply  moral  if  it 
were  done  out  of  sympathy  with  the  lives  and  purposes 
of  a  special  group  of  our  fellow-creatures,  without  further 
reference  to  what  is  implied  in  such  a  fellowship.  The 
same  act  would  be  religious  if  it  were  conceived  of  as 
furthering  a  cosmic  purpose,  or  as  charged  with  meaning 
for  a  universal  moral  order  that  is  being  consummated 
upon  the  earth.  It  may  indeed  be  feasibly  maintained 
that  no  good  conduct  is  entirely  without  reference  to 

*  Cp.  Pascal's  pious  exhortation  "  to  begin  by  sprinkling  holy 
water  and  observing  ceremonies,"  for  that  "  the  rest  would  follcnv," 
and  Hoffding's  remarks  upon  it,  Psychology  (Eng.  Tr.),  p.  76. 

t  See  analysis  of  Desire,  p.  46. 


Ch.  I]  Tlic  End  as  Common  Good  169 

some  such  universal  end;  but  in  so  far  as  the  distinction 
between  morality  and  religion  is  permissible  at  all,  it 
must  be  explained  as  one  between  two  views  that  may 
be  taken  of  moral  conduct,  not  between  two  different 
kinds  of  conduct,  or  two  different  standards  of  moral 
judgment. 


170  Ethics  [Bk.  IV 


CHAPTER  II 

FORMS   OF   THE    GOOD 

§  70.    Recapitulation 

In  looking  for  the  basis  of  moral  judgment,  we  were  led 
to  the  conclusion  that  it  must  be  sought  in  the  idea  of 
an  end,  which,  as  the  end  of  conduct,  must  be  an  end 
for  me.  With  these  "data  of  ethics" — viz.  {a)  moral 
judgments  of  right  and  wrong,  good  and  bad;  (^)  as  in- 
volved in  these,  the  conception  of  an  end;  and  (r)  the 
definition  of  the  end  as  a  form  of  self-satisfaction,  or,  as 
we  preferred  to  say,  self-realisation — we  approached  the 
criticism  of  theories  as  to  the  nature  of  the  end.  We 
first  took  up  the  older  theories,  which  represent  the  end 
respectively  as  pleasure  and  self-sacrifice.  The  defect 
of  these  theories  was  not  that  they  start  from  a  concep- 
tion of  the  self,  and  recognise  moral  judgment  as  based 
upon  it;  but  that  they  start  from  the  wrong  conception 
of  it, — with  the  result  that,  instead  of  explaining  moral 
judgment,  they  in  reality  explain  it  away.  Hedonism 
does  so  by  identifying  the  right  and  the  expedient,  and 
thus  failing  to  explain  how  an  "ought"  or  a  categorical 
imperative  can  exist  at  all.     Equally  defective  is  the 


Ch.  II]  Fornis  of  tJie  Good  171 

theory  that  the  end  is  the  sacrifice  of  all  desire.  For, 
apart  from  desire,  there  can  be  no  action;  so  that 
the  theory  not  only  fails  to  account  for  moral  judgment, 
but  leaves  no  place  in  a  strictly  moral  world  for  the  eager 
passions  and  desires  which  are  the  life-blood  of  common 
life.  The  concrete  life  of  social  activity,  as  founded  on 
desires  for  the  good  of  ourselves  and  others,  disappears 
on  this  theory  altogether. 

Both  theories,  while  thus  differing  in  their  conception 
of  the  self,  agree  in  being  individualistic.  If  we  repre- 
sent the  problem  they  had  to  solve  as  that  of  finding  the 
link  of  connection  between  moral  judgments  and  the 
maxims  of  conduct  which  flow  from  them  on  the  one 
hand,  and  the  summiim  bonmn  on  the  other,  we  might 
say  that  they  were  both  right  in  perceiving  that  the 
middle  term,  through  which  the  solution  was  to  be 
accomplished,  was  the  self.  The  error,  however,  which 
made  the  problem  insoluble  for  both,  was  that  they  con- 
ceived of  the  self  in  an  abstract  way,  apart  from  its  social 
relations,  and  thus  robbed  it  of  the  content  which  might 
have  given  us  the  desired  connection. 

Our  objection  to  evolutionary  ethics  was  different. 
We  gladly  accepted  from  it  the  organic  conception  of 
the  relation  between  the  individual  and  society.  We  ob- 
jected merely  to  the  way  in  which  this  idea  was  applied 
in  ethics.  After  dropping  the  individualistic  theory, 
we  should  have  expected  the  writers  in  question  to  go 
on  to  a  more  thorough-going  examination  of  the  concep- 
tion of  self,  which  we  saw  to  be  the  basis  of  moral 
judgment.  Instead  of  this,  they  have  allowed  themselves 
to  drift  away  from  the  idea  of  personal  good  altogether, 
and  have  attempted  to  work  out  a  teleological  science, 
or  a  science  of  consciously  conceived  ends,  as  though  its 


172  Ethics  [Bk.  IV 

object  were  the  conflict  of  emotional  forces  empirically 
given.* 

In  the  last  chapter  we  endeavoured  to  put  ourselves 
right  in  this  last  respect,  by  showing  that  the  self  is  only 
intelligible  as  the  reflection  of  a  moral  order,  which,  for 
practical  purposes,  we  found  might  be  considered  as 
represented  to  each  of  us  by  his  station  and  his  duties, 
so  that  "the  good  "  for  each  comes  to  be  expressible  in 
terms  of  his  social  relations — in  other  words,  of  good 
conduct  itself. 

It  is  not  pretended  that  this  is  more  than  a  rough 
statement  of  the  end  or  standard  of  moral  judgment. 
Some  of  the  modifications  and  corrections  which  further 
consideration  renders  necessary  will  be  the  subject  of 
the  following  book.  Meantime,  I  shall  try  to  give  greater 
definiteness  to  it  by  considering  some  of  the  chief  forms 
of  the  good,  which,  as  I  have  shown,  will  merely  be 
forms  of  good  conduct.  But,  before  doing  so,  I  must 
endeavour  to  meet  an  objection  which  is  sure  to  occur 
at  this  point  in  our  argument. 

§  71.    Has  my  Argument  been  a  Circle? 

Has  not  my  argument,  it  may  be  asked,  though  de- 
veloped with  all  the  appearance  of  consecutive  reasoning, 
only  succeeded  after  all  in  involving  us  in  a  circle? 
I  started  out  to  explain  moral  judgments,  in  the  sense  of 
deducing  them  from  an  end  to  which  they  should  be  seen 
to  be  organically  related.  I  then  defined  the  end  as 
realisation  of  self;  and  finally,  to  the  question,  "How  is 
the  self  realised?"  I  replied,  on  behalf  of  the  average 

*  See  the  celebrated  chapters  (xi.-xiv.),  in  Spencer's  ZJa/a  oj 
Ethics,  on  Egoism  versus  Altruism. 


Ch.  II]  Forms  of  the  Good  173 

man,  "  By  loyalty  to  the  ordinary  duties  of  the  good  parent 
and  honest  citizen."  Starting  from  good  conduct,  and 
professing  to  explain  what  this  is  through  the  idea  of 
end,  I  have  finished  up  by  defining  the  end  in  terms 
of  good  conduct.  We  thus  seem,  like  the  heroes  of  the 
song,  to  have  merely  "marched  up  the  hill,  and  then 
marched  down  again."  We  have  ascended  from  the 
idea  of  good  conduct  to  the  idea  of  end,  only  to  descend 
again  to  the  idea  of  good  conduct,  and  are  no  further  on 
than  we  were  at  the  beginning. 

My  first  answer  is:  Granting  it  to  be  a  circle,  it  may 
be  none  the  worse  for  that.  No  one  complains  of  the 
guide  who  takes  him  up  the  mountain  that  he  takes  him 
back  to  the  starting-point.  The  journey  may  have  been 
of  value,  though  he  returns  at  the  end  of  it  to  the  same 
place.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  the  same  traveller  never  does 
return  to  the  same  place.  He  is  "a  different  man  "  when 
he  comes  back,  and  the  home  he  comes  back  to  is  a 
"different  place."  In  the  same  way,  it  is  possible  that 
the- reader  who  has  followed  this  argument  may  seem 
to  have  come  back  to  the  point  from  which  he  started; 
but  he  may  have  seen  a  good  deal  by  the  way,  and  may 
really  have  come  back  (as  the  writer  hopes  he  has)  with 
a  quite  different  idea  of  what  good  conduct  really  is; 
i.e.,  he  may  have  come  back  to  quite  a  different  point. 

But  the  objection  is  in  reality  founded  on  a  false  view  of 
the  nature  of  the  moral  end.  It  proceeds  on  the  assump- 
tion that  the  end  in  reference  to  which  conduct  is  judged 
to  have  value,  the  ideal  which  good  conduct  aims  at 
realising,  is  something  to  be  attained  in  the  long  run. 
The  end  of  man,  as  man,  is  conceived  of  as  the  end  of 
the  artist  would  be.  It  is  something  to  be  produced  by 
a  series  of  actions,  each  leading  up  to  a  final  result,  and 


1 74  Ethics  [Bk.  iv 

standing  to  it  in  the  relation  of  means  to  end.     The 

Greeks  were  not  slow  to  perceive  the  fallacy  of    this 

notion,  and  at  the  beginning  of  his  treatise  on  ethics 

Aristotle  *  is  careful  to  point  out  that  the  end  for  man, 

as  man,  is  attained  in  the  action  itself.     It  is  conduct 

(TTpStts  =  Lat.   actio),  not   production  (iroL-qa-K;  =  Lat. 

/actio).       Similarly  Christianity  recognised   that   "the 

kingdom  of  heaven  is  within  you."  Expressed  in  modern 

language,  this  means  that  the  end  or  ideal  in  morals  is 

not  to  be  conceived  of  as  "some  far-off  divine  event" 

which  is  some  day  to  come  to  pass.     It  is  daily  and 

hourly  realised  in  the  good  act  itself.     Such  an  act  is 

not  a  means  to  a  further  end;  it  is  itself  the  end.     In  its 

completeness  (the  purity  of  its  motive,  the  beneficence 

of  its  results)  the  end  is  realised.     The  good  is   not 

something  to  be  hereafter  attained;  it  is  attained  from 

moment  to  moment  in  the   good   life    itself.      Hence 

somef  have  been  content  to   define  the  good  as   the 

good  will,   by  which  is  meant,   not  a  will  which  acts 

independently   of    desire,    but   the   will  which    in   the 

indulgence  of  the  particular  desires  that  from  moment 

to  moment  form  the  undercurrent  of  our  daily  lives  is 

habitually  determined  by  a  more  or   less   consciously 

conceived  idea  of  a  person  whose  satisfaction  is  only  to 

be  found  in  a  certain  order  of  their  mutual  subordination. 

The  truth  intended  to  be  emphasised  by  this  mode  of 

expression  is  the  truth  that  satisfaction  does  not  exist 

somewhere,  laid  up  in  store  for  the  future,  but  must  be 

realised  in  the  good  action  itself ;  and  that  the  moral  end 

is  sui  generis  in  this,  that  the  distinction  of  end  and 

*  Ethics,  I.,  I. 

t  E.g.,  Kant  and  T.  H.  Green,  who  held  that  "the  only  uncon- 
ditioned good  is  the  good  will." 


Ch.  II]  Forms  of  tlic  Good  175 

means  is  a  distinction  within  itself, — in  other  words, 
has  no  proper  place  as  a  distinction  here  at  all.  We 
may,  therefore,  have  no  further  hesitation  in  defining 
the  forms  of  good,  or  modes  of  self-realisation,  as  forms 
of  good  conduct,  and  vice  versa. 


§  72.    Virtues  and  Institutions 

The  previous  discussion  has  prepared  us  for  a  double 
classification  of  the  duties  or  forms  of  good  conduct. 
These  may  be  classified  according  to  the  virtues  or 
qualities  of  character  which  lead  to  their  recognition, 
or  to  the  social  institutions  which  guarantee  a  field  for 
their  exercise.  In  the  former  they  are  considered  sub- 
jectively as  habits  of  will;  in  the  latter  objectively  as  the 
sphere  in  which  the  good  will  realises  itself.  It  has  been 
maintained*  that  the  latter  is  the  true  classification, 
inasmuch  as  moral  institutions  provide  us  with  a  ready- 
made  map  of  the  different  parts  of  the  moral  life.  They 
are  "the  mode  in  which  morality  gives  effect  to  the 
various  wants  of  mankind."  But  it  has  to  be  observed 
that,  as  we  have  seen,  there  is  corresponding  to  the  system 
of  objective  institutions  a  subjective  system  of  impulses 
and  desires,  and  that  the  virtues  or  aptitudes  (dperat') 
for  restraining  and  co-ordinating  natural  instincts,  and 
so  giving  effect  to  the  self  as  an  organic  whole,  are 
just  as  natural  a  basis  of  classification  as  are  the  institu- 

*  As  by  Mr.  Alexander,  op.  cit.,  p.  253.  Though  I  have  criticised 
one  or  two  minor  points  in  Mr.  Alexander's  remarks  on  the  subject 
of  this  chapter,  what  he  says  on  it  is  so  valuable  that  the  student  is 
recommended  to  read  the  passage  referred  to  in  connection  with 
what  follows.  On  the  general  subject  of  this  section,  see  Dewey, 
op.  cit.,  pp.  169-74. 


176  Ethics  [Bk.  IV 

tions  which  are  maintained  by  means  of  them.  It  is 
doubtful,  moreover,  whether  in  actual  fact  the  difficulties 
which  are  admitted  to  exist  in  any  attempt  at  an  exhaust- 
ive classification  are  not  felt  equally  in  connection  with 
the  one  system  as  with  the  other.  Granted,  as  is  indeed 
true  in  a  general  sense,  that  duties  "  naturally  attach  to 
the  institutions,  and  are  defined  by  them,"  it  would  yet 
be  difficult  to  say  round  what  institutions  more  than 
others  the  duties,  e.g.,  of  courage,  veracity,  toleration 
naturally  group  themselves. 

As  a  matter  of  fact,  a  complete  system  of  ethics  would 
require  to  exhibit  the  forms  of  good  under  both  aspects, 
as  related  on  the  one  side  to  the  system  of  instincts  and 
desires  known  as  human  nature,  and  on  the  other  to  the 
objective  moral  order,  as  that  is  embodied  in  social  insti- 
tutions. In  the  one  case  we  should  be  supplementing 
our  exposition  of  the  principles  of  ethics  by  a  more  or 
less  elaborate  psychological  account  of  the  springs  of 
action.*  In  the  other  case  we  should  be  adding  to  the 
science  of  ethics  in  the  stricter  sense  a  sociological 
account  of  the  principal  forms  which  man,  in  his  efforts 
after  a  fuller  expression  of  his  true  nature,  has  devised 
to  be  the  repositories  of  his  moral  acquisitions. f  In 
this  handbook  neither  of  these  is  attempted.  Following 
the  guidance  of  common  language,  I  have  adopted,  with 
slight  modifications,  a  classification  of  the  virtues  in  its 
main  lines  as  old  as  Aristotle,  merely  with  the  view  of 

*  For  such  an  account  see,  e.g.,  Martineau's  Types  of  Ethical 
Theory,  Vol.  II.,  pp.  128  foil. 

t  It  is  characteristic  of  German  as  contrasted  with  English  ethics 
to  have  emphasised  this  side  of  the  moral  life.  Perhaps  this  is 
natural  where  the  state  counts  for  so  much  and  the  individual  for  so 
little. 


Ch.  II]  Forms  of  the  Good  177 

showing  how  actual  moral  duties,  and  the  judgments  that 
correspond  to  them,  flow  from  the  conception  of  the  self 
as  set  forth  above.* 

§  73.    Requirements  in,  such  a  Classification 

(i)  To  be  of  any  use  for  our  purpose,  as  thus  defined, 
the  classification  must  neither  be  too  general  nor  run 
into  too  great  detail.  Thus  Plato's  celebrated  classifica- 
tion of  the  virtues  into  Wisdom,  Courage,  Temperance, 
Justice,  is  obviously  too  meagre,  and,  as  has  been  well 
said,  "serves  its  purpose  only  because  justice  is  used  to 
include  everything  not  accounted  for  by  the  rest."     On 

*  Virtue  has  been  used  in  the  preceding  paragraph  in  its  proper 
sense  of  the  quaHty  of  character  that  fits  for  the  discharge  of  duty. 
In  this  sense  it  is  not  opposed  to  duty,  save  as  good  character  in 
general  is  opposed  to  good  conduct  in  general.  The  relation 
between  virtue  and  duty  is  that  of  universal  to  particular,  and  may 
be  illustrated  by  the  relation  of  the  state  to  the  individual.  The 
character  of  a  man's  action,  in  reference  to  particular  circumstances, 
is  determined  by  the  virtuous  habit  of  will  with  reference  to  the 
particular  form  of  desire  that  is  called  into  exercise,  just  as  the 
character  of  an  individual  citizen  is  determined  by  the  character 
of  the  society  to  which  he  belongs.  The  performance  of  the  duty 
has  moral  quality  only  in  so  far  as  it  is  the  expression  of  a  virtue; 
virtue,  on  the  other  hand,  only  lives  in  the  performance  of  duty. 
It  should  be  pointed  out,  however,  that  the  word  is  often  loosely 
used  in  the  sense  of  meritorious  act,  as  when  we  speak  of  "  making 
a  virtue  of  necessity."  Here  it  is  distinguished  from  duty,  as  the 
meritorious  act  is  distinguished  from  the  act  which  is  simply  good  : 
the  meritorious  act  being  that  which  is  the  result  of  a  higher  than 
the  average  standard  of  virtue,  whether  in  overcoming  natural  dis- 
advantages, as  when  we  speak  of  the  diligence  of  a  stupid  scholar  as 
meritorious,  or  in  achieving  exceptional  success  ceteris  paribus.  On 
the  distinction  between  virtue  and  duty,  see  Sidgwick's  Methods  of 
Ethics,  Book  III.,  ch.  ii.,  and  on  the  subject  of  the  succeeding 
sections,  ibid.,  chs.  iii.-x. 


178  Ethics  [Bk.  IV 

the  other  hand,  if,  as  has  been  shown  to  be  the  case, 
virtue  has  to  do  with  the  regulation  of  the  instincts  and 
desires,  the  list  of  which  is  practically  inexhaustible,*  its 
forms  will  be  legion.  Language,  fortunately,  prescribes 
for  us  the  mean  in  these  two  directions.  It  indicates  a 
sufficient  variety  of  moral  distinctions,  but  makes  no 
attempt  to  cover  the  whole  field  by  having  words  for  all 
the  possible  virtues.  In  many  cases,  it  is  content  with 
general  names,  under  which  whole  classes  are  brought. 
Thus  self-control  is  the  general  word  for  the  regulation 
of  the  desire  for  pleasure;  courage,  of  the  desire  to 
escape  from  pain.  But  of  these  desires  there  are  many 
varieties,  according  to  the  nature  of  the  object  desired 
or  feared  (according  as  the  object  of  desire  is  the 
pleasure  of  eating  or  of  drinking,  of  seeing  or  of  learn- 
ing, etc.,  the  object  of  fear — physical  or  mental,  near 
or  distant,  short  or  prolonged  pain).  Language  has  here 
picked  out  a  few  prominent  instances,  as  in  connecting 
temperance  with  the  regulation  of  the  desire  for  strong 
drink,  endurance  with  the  regulation  of  the  impulse  to 
escape  or  mitigate  continued  pain. 

(2)  A  second  obvious  requirement  for  our  purpose  is, 
that  the  division  should  follow  the  main  outline  of  the 
organic  parts  or  relations  of  the  self.  Only  in  this  way 
shall  we  be  dividing  our  subject  as  Plato  required  we 
should — "at  the  joints." 

Hence  such  grounds  of  distinction  as  that  between 
determinate  and  indeterminate  duties,  or  duties  of  per- 
fect and  duties  of  imperfect  obligation,  will  be  useless 
to  us.     For  bv  this  it  is  meant  that  some  duties  are  defi- 


*  For  an  interesting  fragment  of  such  a  list,  see  William  James's 
Principles  of  Psychology,  Vol.  II.,  ch.  xxiv.      Cp.  p.  43  n.  above. 


Ch.  iij  Forms  of  the  Good  i  79 

nitely  determined  by  law  or  custom,  while  others  are  left 
to  the  discretion  of  the  individual.  Of  the  former  the 
duty  to  pay  one's  debts  is  a  familiar  example;  of  the 
latter,  the  duty  of  charity.  But  such  a  principle  of 
classification  is  misleading.  There  is  an  element  of 
indeterminateness  in  all  duty,  inasmuch  as  the  precise 
form  that  the  duty  takes  must  depend  in  each  case  upon 
the  circumstances.  It  is  quite  true  that  it  is  a  deter- 
minate duty  to  pay  one's  debts;  but  the  time,  the  place, 
the  manner,  frequently  the  amount,  are  matters  left 
indeterminate.  On  the  other  hand,  all  duty  which  is 
duty  at  all  is  a  "bounden  "  duty.  If  it  is  a  duty  to  be 
charitable,  it  is  of  as  perfect  obligation  as  any  other.  In 
this  sense  an  indeterminate  duty,  or  a  duty  of  imperfect 
obligation,  is  a  contradiction  in  terms. 

Again,  it  is  proposed  to  divide  virtues  according  to 
their  importance,  beginning  with  the  "cardinal  virtues," 
and  going  down  through  all  degrees  until  we  come  to 
the  lesser  duties  of  social  etiquette  and  politeness.  The 
difficulty  in  this  case  is,  that  the  relative  importance  of 
the  virtues  varies,  not  only  from  age  to  age  in  the  history 
of  the  world,  but  from  class  to  class  in  any  one  com- 
munity, and  even  from  individual  to  individual.  Thus 
it  has  been  well  observed  that  each  age  has  had  its 
cardinal  (or  papal)  virtue.  Among  the  Greeks  and 
Romans  it  was  courage,  or  manliness  {aptrr],  virtus); 
among  the  early  Christians  it  was  charity;  in  the  mid- 
dle ages,  chivalry;  in  the  eighteenth  century,  benev- 
olence; to-day,  perhaps,  it  is  what  Mr.  Leslie  Stephen 
calls  "organic  justice."  Similarly,  indifferent  classes 
in  a  community  virtues  vary  in  importance.  Courage  is 
more  important  in  a  soldier  than  in  a  tailor,  truthfulness 
and  sincerity  in  a  clergyman  than  in  a  lawyer,  toleration 


i8o  Ethics  [Bk.  IV 

in  a  ruler  than  in  a  subject.  Lastly,  in  the  life  of  the 
individual,  the  circumstances  of  his  own  temptations,  or 
the  importance  of  his  example,  may  make  a  particular 
virtue  {e.g.,  temperance)  the  cardinal  one  for  him,  while 
for  another  it  may  be  different. 

§  74.    Limits  of  Classification.    The  Main  Heads  not 
mutually  Exclusive 

Before  going  on  to  suggest  a  classification  which  may 
in  some  degree  satisfy  these  requirements,  it  may  be 
well  to  recall  some  of  the  results  arrived  at  in  the  pre- 
vious investigation,  that  we  may  know  in  what  sense 
such  a  classification  is  really  possible. 

(i)  In  the  first  place,  we  may  remind  ourselves 
that  the  self,  of  whose  moral  qualities  we  are  attempt- 
ing a  general  description,  is  not  an  aggregate  of  parts 
mechanically  put  together,  and  mutually  exclusive  of  one 
another.  Each  part  is  organically  related  to  every  other : 
each  therefore  implies  the  other,  as  well  as  the  whole 
through  which  it  is  united  to  it.  Thus,  reason  implies 
will,  as  the  student  may  observe  for  himself  if  he  pauses 
to  note  how  much  voluntary  effort  has  been  required  in 
the  act  of  comprehending  the  argument  in  the  present 
chapter.  Similarly  will  implies  reason,  while  each  is  only 
comprehensible  as  a  different  aspect  of  one  subject  that 
embraces  both.*  Hence,  when  in  the  common  classifi- 
cation it  is  proposed  to  draw  a  distinction  between 
intellectual  and  moral  virtues, — or  Wisdom  and  Virtue 
proper, — we  shall  know  in  what  sense  to  accept  the 
division.  It  cannot  mean  that  these  exclude  one 
another,    or  that  we   are   here   doing   more    than   dis- 

*  See  Green,  op.  cit.,  Book  II.,  ch.  ii.,  §§  148  foil. 


Ch.  II]  Forms  of  the  Good  i8i 

tinguishing  between  elements  or  aspects  of  all  morality. 
In  the  case  of  the  former,  it  is  undoubtedly  true  that 
we  are  dealing  primarily  with  the  relations  of  things 
or  events  to  one  another  in  an  objective  world  of 
fact;  in  the  case  of  the  latter  we  are  dealing  primarily 
with  relations  of  persons  to  one  another.  But  it  is 
not  difificult  to  show  that  the  virtues  implied  in  right 
dealing  in  each  of  these  spheres,  involve  each  other. 
Thus,  in  reference  to  the  self-regarding  virtues,  it  hardly 
requires  to  be  stated  that  they  involve  an  element  of 
wisdom.  The  common  description  of  them  as  "pru- 
dential "  implies  this.  Even  proverbial  philosophy 
teaches  us  that  ^^ discretion  is  the  better  part  of  valour." 
It  might  have  added  the  converse,  that  valour  is  the 
better  part  of  wisdom  or  discretion,  for  it  is  equally 
true  that — 

"  He  wants  wit  who  wants  resolved  ivill 
To  learn  his  wit  to  exchange  the  bad  for  better." 

It  is  hardly  less  obvious  that  the  other-regarding  vir- 
tues of  justice*  and  benevolence  presuppose  knowledge 
{e.g.,  of  economic  and  physical  laws),  while,  on  the 
other  hand,  it  may  be  doubted  whether  the  pursuit  of 
truth,t  divorced  from  sympathy  with  social  needs  and 
aspirations,  has  any  claim  to  be  called  a  virtue. 

(2)  If  again  we  recall  the  truth  on  which  so  much 
has  been  said,  that  self  and  society  are  related  to  one 
another  as  particular  and  universal,  and  are  therefore 
only  different  sides  of  the  one  reality,  we  shall  be 
prepared  to  estimate  the  common  distinction  between 

*  Who,  as  she  is  commonly  depicted,  is  blinded,  not  blind. 
t  The  same  is  true,  of  course,  of  beauty.     Cp.  Note  at  the  end  of 
this  chapter. 


i82  Ethics  [Bk.  IV 

self-regarding  and  other-regarding  virtues  at  its  proper 
value.  We  shall  be  ready  to  admit  that  these  are  as- 
pects of  the  same  habit  or  quality  of  mind.  Prudence 
and  self-control  are  the  necessary  conditions  of  justice 
and  benevolence.  On  the  other  hand,  that  which  gives 
prudence  and  self-control  a  claim  to  be  called  virtues  is 
the  fact  that  they  are  the  indispensable  condition  of  all 
social  service  from  the  lowest  to  the  highest. 

§  75.    The  Interdependence  of  the  Virtues  extends 
through  the  Whole  Classification 

But  we  cannot  stop  here.  The  interdependence 
which  we  find  to  exist  between  the  several  highest 
species  in  our  classification  of  the  sioiuniim  genus 
Virtue,  may  be  expected  to  prevail  also  among  the  lower 
species  of  which  these  in  turn  are  general.  If,  as  we 
have  assumed  throughout,  human  nature  is  an  organic 
whole,  and  not  merely  an  aggregate  of  parts,  we  may 
expect  to  find  it  equally  impossible  to  treat  the  special 
virtues,  each  of  which,  in  its  separate  department,  is  the 
guarantee  of  its  unity,  as  independent  units.  Hence  it 
is  an  error  to  distinguish,  as  some  have  sought  to  do, 
between  the  main  heads  of  morality,  such  as  wisdom  and 
self-control,  and  the  other  virtues,  on  the  ground  that 
they  do  not  correspond  to  any  special  groups  of  duties 
or  observances,  but  are  implied  in  all  good  actions.  It 
is  certainly  true  that  on  any  classification  these  would 
require  to  be  treated  as  summed  species,  and  as  such  might 
be  considered  generalised  expressions  for  the  various 
species  which  in  turn  should  be  subsumed  under  them. 
But  this  must  not  be  interpreted  to  mean  that  there  is 


Ch.  II]  Forms  of  the   Good  183 

any  greater  independence  among  the  lower  species  than 
among  the  higher.  There  is,  of  course,  a  greater 
differentiation  as  we  descend,  and  the  relationships  of 
the  various  parts  to  one  another  are  accordingly  more 
remote;  but  to  press  this  distinction,  so  as  to  divide 
aspects  or  elements  of  virtue  from  virtues  proper,  is  to 
deny  the  organic  nature  of  virtue  itself.  It  is  as  though 
in  classifying  the  muscles  of  any  organic  body  w^e  were 
to  begin  by  separating  off  the  respiratory,  alimentary, 
reproductive,  and  other  systems,  and,  after  baptising  them 
"aspects  of  the  muscular  system  as  a  whole,"  were  to 
refuse  them  a  place  in  a  continuous  classification  along 
with  the  muscles  of  the  special  organs  in  each  several 
group. 

It  is,  in  fact,  as  impossible  to  draw  hard  and  fast  lines 
between  the  virtues  {e.g.,  of  courage  and  temperance, 
which  are  species  of  self-control,  or  between  devotion  to 
truth  in  knowledge  and  veracity  in  society,  which  are 
species  of  intellectual  virtue)  as  it  is  to  draw  a  hard  and 
fast  line  between  self-control  and  wisdom  themselves.  It 
is  just  as  open  to  us  to  speak  of  these  sub-species  as  ele- 
ments or  aspects  of  self-control  or  wisdom,  as  to  speak  of 
self-control  and  wisdom  as  aspects  of  virtue  as  a  whole. 
In  order  to  be  temperate  a  man  must  be  courageous : 
in  order  to  be  able  to  resist  the  allurements  of  pleasure 
he  must  be  willing  to  endure  the  pain  the  resistance 
involves.  Similarly,  in  order  to  be  courageous  he  must 
be  temperate, — at  least  in  his  desire  for  those  kinds  of 
pleasure  which  he  is  called  upon  to  forego  in  facing 
danger,  e.g.,  the  desire  for  life.  Not  less  is  the  virtue  of 
social  veracity  implied  in  the  virtue  of  devotion  to  truth 
in  thought  and  knowledge.  The  latter  is,  as  has  been 
well  said,  merely  an  enlargement  of  the  former.     It  is 


184  Ethics  [Bk.  IV 

the  same  virtue  "  exhibited,  not  in  the  mere  normal 
interchange  of  ideas  in  language,  but  in  the  effort  to 
represent  things  in  thought  as  they  really  are  in  ex- 
istence." 

Similarly  with  the  sub-species  under  the  other-regard- 
ing virtue  of  benevolence.  "Charity,"  we  are  told, 
"begins  at  home."  In  other  words,  duty  to  parent  or 
child,  friend  or  neighbour,  is  an  essential  side  or  aspect 
of  duty  to  humanity.  On  the  other  hand,  charity  or 
love  of  humanity  is  the  best  guarantee  against  the 
exclusiveness  which  turns  family  affection  into  a  vice. 
The  same  truth  is  illustrated  by  the  saying,  "Justice 
before  generosity."  Generosity,  it  is  implied,  presup- 
poses justice.  On  the  other  hand,  justice  presupposes 
generosity,  which  is  only  justice  adequately  conceived.* 

Finally,  to  take  an  extreme  instance,  it  might  be  thought 
that  the  minor  virtues  of  amour  propre  and  politeness 
are  clearly  separable  from  those  which  refer  to  weightier 
matters  of  the  law.  But  among  the  Greeks  the  virtue 
of  magnahimity,t  which  corresponded  in  some  degree 
to  the  first,  was  an  essential  quality  in  the  best  men, 
while  the  vice  corresponding  to  the  excess  of  it,  viz., 

*  It  is,  of  course,  the  "  adequate  conception  "  which  adds  that 
splendour  to  the  act  which  we  indicate  by  calling  it  generous.  The 
man  who  publishes  the  ruin  of  the  company  in  which  he  holds 
most  of  the  stock  might  be  said  to  be  generous  to  the  public.  He 
is  only  just,  but  he  has  an  adequate  conception  of  what  justice 
implies.  On  the  distinction  between  ideal  justice,  of  which  I  am 
here  speaking,  and  legal  justice,  see  Bradley,  op.  cit.  The  former 
corresponds  to  equity  as  conceived  by  Aristotle :  see  Rhetoric, 
Book  I.,  ch.  xiii.  (Welldon's  Eng.  Tr.);   Ethics,  Book  V.,  ch.  x. 

t  See  Aristotle's  famous  description  of  the  Magnanimous  Man 
{Ethics,  III.). 


Ch.  II]  Forms  of  the  Good  185 

insolence  {vf3pi<;),  was  a  noticeable  element  in  the  worst. 
On  the  other  hand,  so  close  is  the  connection  between 
manners  and  morals  that,  just  as  politeness  has  been 
defined  as  "benevolence  in  small  things,"  so  chivalry — 
the  cardinal  virtue  of  the  middle  ages — might  be  defined 
as  "politeness  in  great  ones."' 

With  these  explanations  and  exceptions,  the  following 
table  may  be  taken  as  a  rough  sketch  of  the  exfoliation 
of  the  good  in  some  of  its  principal  forms : — 


V  S 


en 
U 
D 
h 


_c 

4J 

r 

'3 

o. 

.2* 

C3 

.  M 

c 

c 

"C 

L^ 

o. 

a 

j: 

•£ 

O 

a 

« 

■^ 

« 

i5 

u 

c 

c 

3 

u-a 

-o 

o 

< 

C 

s 

U 

j: 

^ 

*^ 

>. 

rr 

>. 

x> 

« 

^ 

a 

MB              1 

C 

- 

'^ 

> 

-o 

V 

u 

-B 

S)-a  c     1 

a 

UJ  o 

u 

^ 

PS 

w 

Ij 

_c 

o 

•S 

V. 

^ 

h 

z 

o 

.  I 

u 

■5     H 


'3  n 


z  2 

O      (H 

U 


2^ 

i — z>- 
u  o 

'J  c 
z  g 


o  ^ 
-o  c 


s^ 


!3^ 

a  c 


Ch.  II]  Forms  of  tlie   Good  187 


Note. 

The  relation  between  the  moral  and  the  intellectual  virtues, 
i.e.,  between  devotion  to  duty  on  the  one  hand  and  devotion 
to  truth  and  beauty  on  the  other,  suggests  problems  which  the  cur- 
sory treatment  it  has  received  in  the  text  (pp.  180,  181)  hardly  can  be 
said  to  solve.  Thus  it  might  be  asked  whether  it  is  meant  that  the 
ground  upon  which  devotion  to  art  and  science  is  deemed  a  virtue 
is  the  social  usefulness  of  these  pursuits.  If  this  be  so,  it  would 
appear  from  what  has  already  been  said  of  the  relation  between 
motive  and  morality  (see  pp.  59  foil.),  that  those  only  who  in  the 
studio  or  laboratory  are  consciously  seeking  the  good  of  society  or 
humanity  are  worthy  artists  or  truthseekers.  Whereas  it  is  notori- 
ously the  case  that  the  condition  of  the  highest  achievement  in 
either  field  is  that  truth  and  beauty  should  be  pursued  for  their  own 
sakes,  and  not  on  account  of  any  ulterior  object.  The  difficulty  is  a 
real  one,  and  may  be  shown  to  involve  problems  that  He  outside  the 
limits  I  have  laid  down  for  myself  in  the  present  treatise.  Thus  it 
would  lead  us  to  inquire,  with  regard  to  the  ultimate  relations  of 
truth  and  beauty  to  one  another,  and  of  both  to  goodness,  whether 
these  three  are  really  different  from  one  another,  as  the  above 
objection  seems  to  presuppose,  or  whether  they  are  not  ultimately 
recognisable  as  different  aspects  of  the  one  reality,  the  disinterested 
pursuit  of  them  as  different  but  co-ordinate  forms  of  self-expression. 
Such  an  inquiry  would  obviously  have  been  out  of  place  in  the  text. 
Even  here  I  can  only  give  the  conclusions  to  which  I  believe  it 
would  lead  us — connecting  them  with  the  results  of  our  previous 
examination  into  the  nature  of  the  good  with  a  view  to  suggesting 
the  solution  of  the  above  difficulty. 

I  have  already  defined  the  good  as  self-realisation.  Morality 
means  the  human  spirit  taking  flesh  in  the  ordinary  activities  of 
daily  life,  so  that,  in  realising,  it  may  also  be  said  to  reveal  itself. 
The  condition  of  this  self-revelation  we  have  already  seen  to  be  its 
recognition  of  the  objective  relations  of  the  moral  order  that  we  call 
society.  We  have  now  to  add  that  the  apprehension  of  the  law  of 
that  objective  order  which  we  call  the  world  of  nature  and  of  his- 
tory, is  as  essential  a  condition  of  self-realisation  on  the  side  of 
intellect  as  the  apprehension  of  moral  law  is  on  the  side  of  the  will. 
Hence  it  is  that  in  the  study  of  natural  science,  and  still  more 
obviously  in  the  study  of  history  and  psychology,  though  we  may 
appear  to  have  gone  outside  of  ourselves,  we  are,  in  reahty,  only 


1 88  Ethics  [Rk.  iv 

investigating  the  contents  of  the  human  spirit  itself  {^cp.  p.  219  below) . 
In  the  same  way  it  may  be  shown  that  art  is  not  concerned  with  a 
world  that  lies  outside  of  ordinary  human  interests.  Art  does  not, 
as  common  language  would  sometimes  seem  to  imply,  create  a 
world  of  its  own  apart  from  ours :  it  reveals  to  us  the  world  that 
lies  within  us  and  about  us.  Its  function  is  not  less  interpretation 
than  is  that  of  science  itself.  It  differs  indeed  from  science  in  the 
medium  which  it  chiefly  employs.  Its  appeal  is  emotional  rather 
than  intellectual.  Yet  all  true  art,  like  true  science,  is  ideal  in 
that  it  serves  to  deepen  our  insight  into  the  meaidtig  of  nature 
and  of  human  life,  and  so  to  enlarge  our  knowledge  of  ourselves. 
If  now,  after  these  reflections,  we  return  to  the  difficulty  with 
which  we  started,  we  may  note:  (i)  that  it  is  a  mistake  to  isolate 
truth  and  beauty  from  human  good :  they  can  only  be  admitted  as 
rational  ends  in  so  far  as  they  are  elements  in  it.  (2)  While  little 
is  undoubtedly  to  be  hoped  for  from  the  man  who  pursues  science 
or  art  with  a  constant  view  to  the  economy  of  labour  that  ought  to 
be  practised  in  regard  to  what  is  merely  a  means  to  a  further  end, 
yet  just  as  little  is  to  be  looked  for  from  the  man  who  in  the 
pursuit  of  either  of  them  forgets  his  relation  to  the  larger  world 
that  embraces  both.  (3)  The  motive  which  constitutes  an  act 
good  is  never,  as  the  preceding  objection  seems  to  imply,  good  in 
general,  but  is  always  some  particular  form  of  good.  (4)  Scientific 
and  artistic  activity  under  the  conditions  just  mentioned  being,  as 
we  have  seen,  such  particular  forms  of  good,  are  approved  by 
mankind  at  large  on  the  ground  of  the  common  interest  which  all 
have  in  the  free  play  of  thought  and  imagination,  quite  apart  from 
any  immediate  public  utility  which  may  accrue  from  them. 

On  the  difficulty  here  discussed,  see  Green,  op.  cit.,  pp.  312 
and  415;  Alexander,  op.  cit.,  pp.  123-6,  182-6,  257-9;  Dewey, 
op.  cit.,  §§  xxxix.  and  Ixxiii.;  Lotze,  op.  cit.,  p.  61.  On  the  more 
general  question  of  the  relation  of  Intellectual  to  Moral  virtue,  see 
Aristotle,  Ethics,  Book  VI.;  and  of  Art  to  Morality,  Plato,  Republic, 
Book  III.,  esp.  §  401;  Aristotle,  Poetics  (Cassell's  National  Library), 
pp.  23  and  39;  Bosanquet,  Introduction  to  HegeVs  Philosophy  of  Art, 
esp.  pp.  58,  105  foil.;  Essays  in  Philosophical  Criticisms,  "  The 
Philosophy  of  Art,"  by  Professor  W.  P.  Ker;  Dewey,  Psychology, 
pp.  195-201.  For  literary  expression  of  the  same  truth,  see,  e.g., 
Sir  Philip  Sidney's  Defence  of  Poesie  (Cassell's  National  Library)  ; 
Spenser's  Letter  to  Sir  Walter  Raleigh  at  beginning  of  the  Fa'erie 
Queeiie  (Globe  Edition) ;    Browning,  passim,  esp.  Fra  Lippo  Lippi. 


BOOK    V 

MORAL    PROGRESS 


CHAPTER    I 

THE  STANDARD  AS  RELATIVE 

§  77.    Differences  of  Standard  which  we  may  Neglect 

We  have  hitherto  treated  moral  judgments  as  though 
they  were  universally  applied  in  the  same  way,  i.e.,  as 
though  there  were  only  one  good  and  one  right,  which 
is  the  same  for  all.  The  moral  standard  has  been 
conceived  of  as  something  fixed  and  absolute,  and 
even  worked  out  into  some  detail  in  a  system  of  virtues 
and  duties  representing  the  outline  of  a  common  ideal. 
Within  this  fixed  standard  indeed  we  have  recognised 
differences.  Thus  it  was  pointed  out  that,  inasmuch  as 
the  form  under  which  each  realises  himself  is  pre- 
scribed for  him  by  his  station  and  its  duties,  this 
may  be  different  for  different  classes  and  even  for  dif- 
ferent individuals.  The  duty  which  the  doctor  at  the 
bedside  of  a  nervous  patient  recognises  to  verbal  truth- 
fulness is  different  from  that  of  the  witness  in  the  box 
in  a  court  of  law.  But  this  may  be  called  a  difference 
flowing  from  the  very  nature  of  the  standard  as  a  social 
one,  rather  than  a  difference  in  the  standard  itself.  It  is 
merely  a  difference  of  emphasis  among  duties  which  all 
recognise,  and  need  not  cause  any  further  difficulty. 

191 


192  Ethics  -[Bk.  V 

Nor  is  the  absoluteness  of  the  standard,  as  hitherto 
defined,  affected  by  the  kind  of  differences  which,  as 
distinguished  from  those  just  spoken  of,  we  may  call 
differences  within  the  standard.  They  are  the  result  of 
the  co-existence  of  different  standards  in  the  same  com- 
munity. Thus  the  standard  of  morality  in  a  circle  of 
racing  men  or  of  horse-dealers  will  be  different  from 
that  recognised  by  a  Christian  congregation.  Even 
within  the  latter  there  will  be  differences,  as  between 
those  who  permit  themselves  to  smuggle  silk  or  tobacco 
at  the  Custom  House  or  to  take  a  ticket  in  a  rafifle- 
sale,  and  those  who  do  not.  Yet  the  difference  is  more 
apparent  than  real.  It  is  the  result  of  local  depressions 
rather  than  of  serious  divergence  of  standard.  In  the 
case  of  the  horse-dealer  and  the  rafifler,  the  higher 
standard  is  rather  latent  than  non-existent,  as  is  shown 
by  the  fact  that  it  is  possible  to  "convert"  them. 
Differences  of  this  kind,  which  have  been  called  differ- 
ences within  the  standard,  cause  no  difficulty  to  ethics, 
and  may  be  disregarded.  In  any  time  and  country  there 
is  sufficient  agreement  as  to  the  contents  of  the  moral 
standard  to  lull  suspicion  in  the  unreflective  as  to  more 
fundamental  contradictions. 

Another  interesting  form  of  variation  is  where  dif- 
ferent standards  co-exist  in  the  same  individual.  Thus, 
on  being  asked  a  question,  a  man  will  unblushingly  reply 
with  the  query,  "  Do  you  ask  me  as  a  lawyer  (doctor, 
stockbroker,  etc.),  or  as  a  friend?"  admitting  thereby 
that  he  is  the  happy  possessor  of  at  least  a  pair  of 
different  standards,  and  intends  to  use  the  one  or  the 
other,  according  to  circumstances.  No  more  difficulty, 
however,  need  be  caused  by  this  case  than  by  those 
already  discussed.      The  man  of  many  standards  will 


Ch.  ij  The  Standard  as  Relative  193 

probably  admit,  when  closely  pressed,  that  "a  man's 
a  man  for  a'  that,"  and  that  there  is  a  supreme  standard 
which  applies  to  him  as  sharing  that  distinction  with  his 
neighbours. 


§  78.    Essential  Differences  in  Standard  involving 
Ethical  Problem 

It  is  the  comparative  study  of  tlic  moral  codes  of  differ- 
ent times  and  countries  that  first  reveals  the  fact  that  the 
standard  is  relative  in  the  sense  that  makes  a  difficulty 
for  ethics,  and  causes  practical  alarm  for  the  authority 
of  the  moral  imperative.  Not  to  go  beyond  historical 
times  and  the  civilised  nations  of  Europe,  it  is  well 
known  that,  among  the  early  Greek  communities,  the 
exposure  of  infants  who  were  weak  or  deformed  was  not 
only  deemed  consistent  with  humanity,  but  advocated 
as  necessary  for  the  maintenance  of  the  community  and 
in  the  interests  of  morality.  In  the  middle  ages  per- 
secution for  religious  opinion  differing  from  that  of  the 
majority  was  not  only  permitted,  but  approved  of  as 
a  highly  commendable  form  of  religious  zeal.  At  the 
present  day,  on  the  other  side  of  the  Channel,  leading 
statesmen  may  meet  in  duel  with  the  intent  to  maim  or 
to  kill  without  in  any  way  losing  caste  or  outraging  the 
public  conscience. 

Nor  is  this  variation  in  the  standard  in  different  times 
and  countries  confined  to  virtues  which,  like  humanity 
and  toleration,  might  be  regarded  as  of  secondary  impor- 
tance for  the  maintenance  of  society :  it  extends  also  to 
those  which  are  usually  regarded  as  primary,  and  as  lying 
at  the  foundation  of  all  social  life.  The  children  at 
Sparta  were  taught  to  steal :  in  the  well-known  story  of 


194  Ethics  [Bk.  v 

the  child  who  stole  a  fox  and  permitted  it  to  tear  his 
bosom  rather  than  let  it  be  discovered,  the  crime  was, 
not  to  steal,  but  to  be  found  out.  In  the  lives  of  the 
saints  among  the  Turks,  as  Locke  informs  us  in  his 
celebrated  chapter  entitled  "  No  Innate  Practical  Prin- 
ciples," the  primary  virtue  of  chastity  had  no  place. 

In  respect  to  these  and  similar  varieties  of  standard,  it 
is  not,  of  course,  enough  to  say  that  all  respectable  people 
condemn  these  anomalies.  The  point  is  that  they  are 
not  anomalies,  and  that  "all  respectable  people  "  in  the 
time  and  country  in  which  they  were  practised  approved 
them.  It  would  be  a  gross  historical  injustice  to  apply 
our  own  standards  in  such  cases.  The  virtue  of  the_ 
Spartan  boy  must  be  judged  by  his  own  standard,  not 
by  that  of  the  shiny-faced  urchin  who  creeps  unwillingly 
to  school  in  an  English  village :  so  judged,  it  is  heroic. 
We  have  to  recognise  that  in  this  sense  goodness  is  a 
different  thing  in  different  times  and  countries. 

Is  there  then,  it  might  be  asked,  no  such  thing  as  an 
absolute  standard  of  morality?  Is  morality  not  one,  but 
many  and  different?  And  are  those  justified  who,  upon 
the  basis  of  the  latter  hypothesis,  draw  the  practical  con- 
clusion that,  as  opposed  to  what  is  "conventional"  or 
"expedient"  for  a  community,  there  is  no  such  thing 
as  "right"? 

§  "!>.    The  Unity  of  the  Form  of  Virtue 

The  previous  course  of  our  argument  has  prepared  us 
for  the  answer  to  this  question.  At  the  very  outset  it 
w-as  shown  that  morality  cannot  consist  in  obedience  to 
a  fixed  code  of  rules.  As  opposed  to  this  view,  I 
showed  that  morality  is  the  conduct  prescribed  by  an 


Ch.  I]  The  Standard  as  Relative  195 

end  other  than  the  momentary  satisfaction  of  desire, 
which  may  indifferently  be  described  as  the  satisfaction 
{i.e.,  realisation)  of  the  self  as  a  whole  {i.e.,  the  better 
self),  or  as  the  maintenance  according  to  opportunity  of 
the  social  system,  which  is  only  the  other  or  objective 
side  of  this  better  self.  This  end  is  the  principle  of 
unity  which  underlies  and  "explains"  the  manifold  im- 
peratives in  which  the  moral  law  expresses  itself,  inas- 
much as  it  is  the  common  root  or  stem  of  which,  as  the 
last  chapter  tried  to  show,  they  are  exfoliations. 

We  have  now  only  to  apply  these  results  to  the 
question  before  us,  in  order  to  see  that,  underlying  the 
apparent  diversities  in  the  contents  of  the  moral  stand- 
ard, virtue  is  at  all  times  one  and  the  same.  Wherever 
we  have  moral  judgment  approving  a  line  of  conduct  as 
good,  whether  among  the  rudest  band  of  savages  or  in 
those  circles  which  in  the  most  highly  moralised  countries 
in  the  world  recognise  the  highest  moral  standard,  it  is 
seen  to  rest  upon  a  more  or  less  consciously  recognised 
contrast  between  a  permanent  and  a  transient  self : 
between  the  satisfaction  of  a  higher,  m  true  self,  and 
of  a  lower,  or  apparent  one. 

Take,  for  instance,  the  savage  who,  when  the  enemy's 
hamlet  has  been  taken  by  his  tribe  and  the  booty  is  in 
his  power,  instead  of  seizing  the  largest  share  he  can 
and  escaping  to  the  solitary  enjoyment  of  it  in  the  woods, 
restrains  his  impulse  in  order  to  await  his  chief's  own 
choice,  and  the  subsequent  distribution  by  the  lot. 
What  does  this  mean?  It  means  that  he  restrains  the 
instincts  of  his  lower  nature  in  view  of  a  good,  which  in 
so  far  as  he  reflects  upon  it  he  recognises  as  his  better 
self,  viz.,  the  social  self  which  at  this  stage  is  represented 
by  the  rudely  organised  society  of  the  nomadic  tribe. 


196  Ethics  [Bk.  V 

Or  to  revert  to  our  previous  illustration :  the  Spartan 
boy  is  approved  by  the  judgment  of  his  time  and 
country  because  he  sacrifices  the  pleasure-seeking,  pain- 
avoiding  self,  who  would  have  done  with  the  matter  by 
throwing  away  the  fox;  to  an  idea  of  a  higher  good,  which 
he  represents  to  himself  perhaps  as  "pluck"  or  "en- 
durance," but  which  has  value  only  in  so  far  as  it  is 
related  to  a  moral  order,  loyalty  to  which  the  boy 
recognises  as  part  of  his  true  self. 

From  these  examples  it  will  be  seen  that,  while  it  is 
undoubtedly  true  that  morality  differs  from  age  to  age 
and  under  different  circumstances,  it  springs  in  every 
age  and  country  from  the  same  root;  in  other  words, 
while  its  matter  or  content  varies  its  form  or  essence 
remains  the  same.* 

§  80.    The  Relativity  of  the  Standard  as  Condition  of 
its  Validity 

But  we  may  go  further  than  this.  For  it  further  follows 
from  the  argument  in  the  previous  chapters  that  the 
relativity  of  the  moral  standard  is  not  only  compatible 

*  The  above  argument  may  be  further  illustrated  from  the 
beginnings  of  morality  in  sub-human  forms  of  life.  (See  Mr. 
Spencer's  article,  Nineteenth  Century,  February  1890,  since  pub- 
lished in  his  book  on  yustice.)  In  these,  as  in  the  devotion  of 
the  outpost  elephant  (^cp.  Professor  Drummond's  description  of  the 
white  ants  in  Tropical  Africa)  to  the  interest  of  the  herd,  we 
have  a  shadow  of  human  morality.  Nature  is  dreaming  of  morality. 
What  makes  the  difference,  of  course,  is  \ht  poiver  of  conceiving  the 
higher  or  common  good.  In  saying  so  I  do  not  intend  to  deny  that 
the  lower  animals  may  have  the  rudiments  of  such  a  conception 
of  a  higher  self.  All  I  mean  is,  that  it  is  the  possession  of  such  a 
rudimentary  conception,  and  not  the  mere  empirical  fact  that  the 
lower  animals  exhibit  such  conduct,  that  justifies  us  in  speaking 
of  sub-human  justice,  or  any  other  sub-human  virtue. 


Ch.  I]  TJie  Standard  as  Relative  197 

with  the  existence  of  a  law  which  is  absolute  for  each  in 
his  special  circumstances,  but  is  a  necessary  condition 
of  the  obligatoriness  of  morality  and  the  validity  of  moral 
judgment.  We  have  already  seen  how  this  is  so,  within 
certain  limits,  with  respect  to  individuals  living  in  the 
same  age  and  country.  Duty  with  each  of  us  was  seen 
to  be  relative  to  his  station  and  circumstances.  It  is 
this  relativity  which  makes  it  duty  for  me.  A  law  which 
did  not  apply  to  me,  in  virtue  of  my  place  in  the  organism 
of  society,  could  not  be  binding  upon  me  at  all.  It  is 
only  an  extension  of  the  same  principle  to  say  that  it  is 
because  morality  is  always,  and  in  all  places,  relative  to 
circumstances,  that  it  is  binding  at  any  time  and  in  any 
place.  The  idea  that  it  is  otherwise  comes  from  our 
habit  of  conceiving  of  the  moral  law  as  isolated  from  the 
social  circumstances  in  which  it  rose,  and  as  therefore 
varying  arbitrarily  in  different  times  and  countries.  The 
error  is  corrected  by  recollecting  that  the  variations  we 
are  discussing  are  not  accidental,  but  are  organically 
related  to  the  circumstances  of  the  time  to  which  they 
severally  belong. 

Thus,  to  go  no  further  than  our  previous  instances, 
the  practice  of  exposing  infants  (especially  females*) 
was  justified  at  a  time  when  it  was  necessary  (or,  which 
comes  to  the  same  thing,  was  supposed  to  be  neces- 
sary), in  order  to  maintain  that  peculiar  form  of  city- 
state  which  flourished  in  Greece  and  Italy.  When  the 
circumstances  changed,  when  city-states  had  perished, 
when  higher  ideas  of  the  position  of  women  began  to 
prevail,  and  when  it  became  obvious  that  the  outrage  to 

*  See  Merivale's  History  of  the  Roman  Empire,  Vol.  V.,  pp.  56 
and  303  n. 


198  Ethics  [Bk.  V 

humanity  that  was  involved  in  the  practice  was  a  greater 
social  evil  than  the  burden  thrown  upon  the  community 
by  the  necessity  of  maintaining  an  apparently  useless 
population,  not  only  was  exposure  discountenanced,  but 
the  public  conscience  was  awakened  to  the  duty  of 
making  provision  for  their  support.* 

Similarly,  intolerance  dates  from  a  time  when,  owing 
to  the  intimate  relations  between  State  and  Church  {e.g., 
in  the  oaths  of  soldiers),  it  seemed  to  be  of  vital  impor- 
tance that  no  religious  scruples  of  non-conformists  {e.g., 
of  the  Christian  soldiers  in  the  Roman  armies)  should 
interfere  with  the  due  performance  of  social  obligations. 
Intolerance  ceased  to  be  a  virtue,  and  began  to  pass 
over  into  the  opposite  category,!  when,  among  other 
changes,  it  began  to  be  seen  that  freedom  of  thought 
contributed  more  to  the  common  good  than  any  artificial 
unity  of  religious  belief.  As,  then,  the  form  of  social 
life  varies  from  age  to  age  in  the  course  of  natural  evo- 
lution, morality,  which,  as  we  have  seen  (if  it  is  to 
be  morality  in  the  proper  sense,  and  not  mere  blind 
obedience  to  a  traditional  law),  must  represent "  a  quality 
of  the  social  tissue,"  must  varv  with  it. 


§  81.     Further  Difficulty 

But  perha])s  this  does  not  altogether  meet  the 
difficulty.  Granted  that  there  is  a  unity  of  form  under- 
lying the  variations  in  the  matter  of  moral  obligation, 

*  See  the  Law  of  Constantine,  quoted,  Gibbon,  II.,  p.  142 
(Smith's  edition). 

t  Cp.  the  definition  of  badness  as  a  survival.  On  the  whole 
subject  of  this  chapter  and  book  the  student  is  recommended  to 
consult  Book  III.  in  the  same  work, 


Ch.  I]  Tlie  Staiufard  as  Relative~  199 

and,  further,  that  the  variations  are  a  necessary  in- 
cident in  anything  that  can  rightly  be  called  a  moral 
standard,  a  further  question  still  remains.  If  the  social 
changes  on  which  the  variations  spoken  of  depend 
are  themselves  only  accidental  circumstances  dependent 
on  efficient  causes  empirically  discerned  (and  hitherto 
nothing  has  been  said  to  show  that  they  are  not),  morality 
comes,  after  all,  to  be  nothing  but  that  kind  of  conduct 
which  supports  one  or  other  of  the  accidental  changes 
in  the  phantasmagoria  of  social  forms.  It  is  much,  of 
course,  to  have  established  this  underlying  unity  in 
varieties  of  standard,  and  to  have  proved  that  "  the  good  " 
for  the  individual  depends  upon  the  good  of  the  society 
of  which  he  is  a  member.  But  if  these  "goods"  are 
only,  after  all,  varieties  of  adaptation  to  environment 
blindly  determined  by  natural  causes,  and  are  not  united 
with  one  another  in  any  order  so  as  to  suggest  the  idea 
of  a  universal  or  absolute  good,  there  is,  after  all,  no 
ground  for  the  obligation  to  adopt  the  moral  sta-ndard 
of  any  one  of  them  rather  than  of  another,  except  the 
accidental  circumstance  that  our  inherited  aptitudes 
probably  fit  us  for  the  conditions  of  life  that  obtain  in 
that  into  which  we  have  been  born  rather  than  those  of 
any  other.  And,  if  this  be  so,  morality  turns  out,  after 
all,  to  be  relative  in  the  sense  for  which  the  sceptic 
contends,  viz.,  of  resting  upon  no  objective  and  universal 
moral  order,  but  only  upon  one  which  is  relative  to  the 
effects  of  accidental  circumstances.* 

The  difficulty  here  suggested  is  a  real  one,  involving 
as  it  does  at  least  two  distinct  questions  which  press  for 
an  answer  in  the  interest  of  the  higher  forms  of  practical 

*  For  a  clear  statement  of  this  difficulty,  see  Professor  Knight's 
Studies  in  Philosophy  and  Literature,  pp.  32  foil. 


200  Ethics  [Bk.  V 

morality,  perhaps  of  religion  itself.  They  both,  indeed, 
remind  us  of  what  was  said  in  an  earlier  chapter  of  the 
impossibility  of  separating  ethics  from  the  study  of  the 
nature  of  the  world  as  a  whole,  and  man's  relation  to  it. 
Nor,  as  we  shall  see,  shall  we  be  able  altogether  to 
escape  without  paying  tribute  to  the  spectre  of  meta- 
physics that  has  dogged  our  steps  throughout.  Mean- 
time, however,  it  will  be  possible  to  avoid  coming  face 
to  face  with  it,  and  to  carry  our  explanation  of  the  data 
of  ethics  a  step  further  than  we  have  hitherto  done, 
by  inquiring  whether,  amid  the  variety  of  forms  the 
moral  standard  has  been  seen  to  take,  any  principle  of 
unity  is  discernible  in  the  light  of  which  they  may  be 
seen  to  be  more  than  isolated  phenomena  on  a  back- 
ground of  unintelligible  change. 


Ch.  II]  The  Standard  as  Pros^ressive 


CHAPTER    II 

THE    STANDARD   AS    PROGRESSIVE 

§  82.    Clue  to  Solution  of  the  Problem  in  Idea  of 
Progress 

The  question  with  which  we  ended  the  last  chapter 
may  be  stated  in  a  form  which  will  make  its  connection 
with  the  results  of  our  previous  analysis  plain  to  the 
student. 

In  seeking  for  an  explanation  of  moral  judgments,  we 
traced  them  back  to  a  principle  of  unity  variously 
described  as  the  end,  standard,  or  ideal  of  conduct,  in 
the  light  of  which  they  were  seen  to  be  organically  re- 
lated to  one  another  and  to  the  life  of  man  as  a  social 
being.  A  new  difficulty,  however,  rose  when,  on  further 
investigation,  we  found  that  so  far  from  there  being  one 
universally  recognised  standard,  there  exists  a  most 
bewildering  variety  in  the  standards  or  ideals  that  men 
have  agreed  to  recognise.  We  were  thus  driven  to  ask 
whether  this  variety  must  be  accepted  as  an  ultimate 
fact,  or  whether  all  these  different  standards  may  not 
be  susceptible  of  explanation  in  the  same  sense  as  the 
variety  of  the  moral  judgments  under  any  one  standard 
was  found  to  be,  by  being  shown  to  have  their  place  as 


202  EtJiics  [Bk.  V 

mutually  related  parts  or  elements  in  an  organic  whole. 
Is  there,  in  a  word,  any  larger  conception  of  morality 
possible  than  that  implied  in  the  definition  of  it  as  a 
quality  of  the  social  tissue  at  any  one  time  or  place,  in 
the  light  of  which  we  may  be  enabled  to  establish  a 
relation  between  conduct  that  supports  any  particular 
moral  order,  and  some  more  universal  end  or  purpose 
traceable  in  human  history? 

For  the  clue  to  the  answer  to  the  question,  when  so 
stated,  we  have  not  far  to  look.  It  is  given  in  the  con- 
ception of  progress  rendered  familiar  to  us  by  evolution- 
ist writers.  Progress  means  change  estimated  in  terms 
of  approximation  to  an  end, — the  end  being  the  princi- 
ple of  unity  which  harmonises  and  explains. the  successive 
steps.  History,  as  contrasted  with  annals  or  chronicles, 
is  the  record,  not  simply  of  change,  but  of  progress  and 
growth.  As  applied  to  the  life  of  nations  and  societies, 
evolution  has  made  us  familiar,  not  only  with  the  idea, 
but  also  with  the  law  of  growth.  Popularly  stated,  that 
law  is  that  societies  advance  through  successive  stages 
of  simultaneous  differentiation  and  unification  to  ever 
higher  and  richer  forms  of  life. 


§  83.    Illustration  of  the  General  Law  of  Progress 

This  law  hardly  requires  illustration.  Mr.  Spencer 
has  formulated  it  in  well-known  terms  to  the  effect  that 
"  an  indefinite,  incoherent  homogeneity  is  transformed 
into  a  definite,  coherent  heterogeneity,"  profusely  illus- 
trating it  in  the  fields  of  biology  and  social  life.  Thus 
the  general  course  of  biological  evolution  is  seen  to 
be  from  organisms  such  as  the  amoeba,  which  are 
homogeneous  and  almost  structureless,  through  fishes, 


Ch.  II]  7 lie  Standard  as  Progressive  203 

reptiles,  birds,  to  the  highly  differentiated  structures 
of  the  mammals,  and  finally  of  man.  A  similar  prog- 
ress is  traceable  in  the  development  of  the  social  or- 
ganism. At  first  this  is  simple  and  undifferentiated; 
all  the  members  alike  fish,  and  hunt,  and  fight.  But 
with  all  its  homogeneity,  it  is  still  a  loose  organisation, 
with  little  internal  coherence.  The  functions  are  not 
specialised,  the  parts  are  comparatively  independent  of 
one  another.  With  division  of  labour  comes  greater 
differentiation  into  castes  and  classes,  and  at  the  same 
time  greater  interdependence,  greater  unity  and  cohe- 
rence, as  these  become  mutually  dependent  on  one 
another.  As  evolution  proceeds  the  different  forms  of 
industry  again  differentiate  into  smaller  groups  or  spe- 
cialised industries.  Similarly,  the  military  forces  are 
separated  into  departments,  as  of  the  home  and  foreign 
service,  the  army  and  the  navy,  etc. ;  the  government 
into  central  and  municipal,  and  each  again  into  legis- 
lative, executive,  and  judicial. 

§  84.    Progress  of  Humanity  as  a  Whole 

A  process  similar  to  that  which  takes  place  among 
individual  nations  may  be  seen  to  take  place  in  the 
world  at  large,  and  in  the  human  race  as  a  whole. 
The  growth  here  also  is  from  a  state  of  relative  homo- 
geneity and  mutual  isolation  to  greater  heterogeneity, 
advancing  pari  passu  with  greater  mutual  interdepend- 
ence and  coherence  among  the  parts.  It  is  true  that 
as  yet  this  progress  has  been  but  fitful,*  and  that  the 
indications  of  the  growth  of  a  universal  human  brother- 

*  As  a  whole,  we  have  to  recollect  that  "  progress  has  many 
receding  waves." 


204 


Ethics  [Bk.  V 


hood  are  but  faint.  If,  however,  we  take  the  history  of 
the  nations  of  Europe  and  America  during  the  last 
century,  it  cannot  be  doubted  that  some  progress  has 
been  made.  In  so  far  as  it  is  observable,  it  is  in  the 
direction  indicated  by  our  law.  In  the  first  place,  we 
have  a  movement  towards  disruption  and  disintegration. 
This  may  be  said  to  have  begun  in  the  great  American 
War  of  Independence,  and  to  have  been  continued  in 
F.urope  in  the  national  movement,  which  took  its  rise 
in  the  anti-Napoleonic  reaction,  created  the  German 
Empire,  modern  Greece,  Italy,  and  Hungary,  and  cannot 
be  said  to  have  even  yet  spent  itself.  On  the  other 
hand,  going  ox\  pari  passu  with  this  movement,  we  have 
the  growth  of  international  sympathy,  industrial  co- 
operation, and  a  community  of  intellectual  interests,  so 
that  the  Europe  and  America  of  to-day,  in  spite  of  the 
development  of  greater  internal  differences,  are  more 
united  than  ever  before.* 

If  now  we  pass  from  these  indications  of  the  growth 
in  the  civilised  world  as  a  whole  of  a  richer  form  of 
social  and  political  organisation  to  the  moral  ideas  and 
habits  which,  as  we  have  seen,  must  at  each  stage  be 
its  support,  we  may  expect  to  find  a  corresponding 
development,  indicating  at  least  a  tendency  towards  a 
universal  standard  or  ideal,  which,  as  it  unifies  and  gives 
significance  to  the  separate  varieties  that  have  been 
developed  in  the  progress,  may  be  said  to  furnish  the 
explanation  of  which  we  are  in  search. 

*  As  illustrations  of  this  progress  may  be  mentioned  International 
Arbitration,  Labour  Conferences,  Industrial  Exhibitions,  the  Postal 
Union,  Laws  of  Copyright  and  of  Extradition. 


Ch.  II]  The  Standard  as  Progressive  205 


§  85.    Moral  Progress  in  Nations 

Confining  ourselves  to  the  history  of  particular 
nations,  it  is  not  difificult  to  show,  not  only  that  there 
is  a  definite  progress  in  the  moral  standard,  but  that 
this  progress  obeys  the  law  of  all  others  as  expounded 
above. 

Thus,  to  take  a  well-known  example,  it  is  not  diffi- 
cult to  show  that,  pari  passu  with  the  progress  of 
the  Jewish  nation  from  a  rabble  of  fugitive  slaves  to 
a  great  and  highly  civilised  nation,  there  is  a  moral 
progress  from  the  first  elements  of  a  standard  in  the 
Decalogue  to  the  highly  spiritualised  morality  of  the 
later  prophets  and  the  Sermon  on  the  Mount.  A  similar 
progress  is  traceable  from  the  traditional  and  proverbial 
morality  of  early  Greece  to  the  reflective  morality  of 
the  philosophers.  The  progress,  moreover,  is  one  from 
incoherent  homogeneity  to  coherent  heterogeneity.  We 
have,  on  the  one  hand,  a  movement  towards  greater 
differentiation,  as  when  the  principles  laid  down  in  the 
ten  commandments  expand  into  the  greater  detail  of 
the  Sermon  on  the  Mount  {e.g.,  the  principle  Thou 
shalt  not  kill  being  extended  to  minute  particulars  of 
daily  life),  or  when  the  /A?;8ev  ayav  (nothing  in  excess)  of 
traditional  Greek  morality  differentiates  into  the  elabo- 
rate table  of  the  Aristotelian  virtues.*  On  the  other 
hand,  we  have  a  movement  towards  greater  unity  and 
coherence.  To  this  corresponds  in  Jewish  ethics  the 
movement  from  the  externality  of  the  law  to  the  "  inward- 
ness "  of  the  Christian  teaching.  The  law  is  "  contained  " 
in  the  golden  rule  {i.e.,  is  seen  to  be  related  to  the  spirit 

*  See  Ethics,  Books  III.  and  IV. 


2o6  Ethics  [Bk.  V 

or  principle  that  underlies  it  as  the  particular  to  the 
universal),  viz.,  love  to  God  and  to  our  neighbour. 
In  the  same  way  in  Greek  morality  the  integrating 
movement  is  plainly  seen  in  the  writings  of  the  philoso- 
phers, who  merely  sum  up  the  higher  tendencies  of  their 
time  when  they  exhibit  the  various  forms  of  the  good 
which  constitute  the  common  standard  as  flowing  from 
a  conscientious  interpretation  of  the  duties  of  a  good 
citizen. 

§  80.    Evolution  of  a  Universal  Moral  Order 

But  this  is  not  enough  for  our  purpose.  It  is  not 
enough  to  know  that,  in  particular  times  or  nations, 
the  changes  in  the  moral  standard  are  determined 
by  such  a  law  of  progress.  We  have  to  go  further, 
and  ask  whether  in  morality  as  a  whole  throughout  the 
history  of  humanity  any  such  progress  is  discernible. 
The  question  is  sul^ciently  wide.  A  complete  answer 
to  it  could  only  be  given  in  a  general  history  of 
morality.*  In  writing  such  a  history  the  historian  would 
be  met  by  a  difificulty  which  is  not  felt  in  treating  of 
the  evolution  of  morality  in  a  particular  age  or  countr)', 
namely,  that  the  process  is  not  completed.  It  is  com- 
paratively easy  to  place  the  various  stages  in  the  de- 
velopment of  Jewish  and  Hellenic  morality  in  their  true 
light,  because  it  is  possible  to  trace  the  leading  features 
of  the  Jewish  and  Hellenic  ideals  as  these  fulfilled  them- 
selves in  history.  But  where  are  we  to  find  such  fulfil- 
ment in  a  universal  history?  Here  we  must  be  satisfied 
with  tendencies  towards  an   ideal,   into   the  nature  of 

*  For  a  popular  contribution  to  such  a  history,  see  Lecky's 
History  of  Ettropean  Morals. 


Ch.  II]  The  Standard  as  Progressive  207 

which  we  may  have  more  or  less  insight,  according  to 
the  degree  of  our  intellectual  and  moral  culture,  but 
which  at  best  is  rather  an  object  of  faith  than  of  sight. 
Without  committing  myself  to  any  speculative  descrip- 
tion of  the  general  features  of  the  moral  ideal  that  is 
working  itself  into  shape  as  the  common  standard  of 
civilised  humanity,  I  may  try  to  illustrate  the  general 
progress  by  considering  one  or  two  instances  of  it  in  the 
particular  virtues. 


§  87.    Illustration  from  Courage* 

Thus  we  may  take  the  virtue  of  courage  at  two 
successive  stages  in  its  development  as  part  of  the 
common  stock  of  moral  ideas.  It  is  the  virtue  which 
the  ancients  delighted  to  honour,  and  of  which  Plato 
and  Aristotle  have  given  careful  and  typical  delinea- 
tions, f  Among  the  Greeks  it  appears  as  the  virtue 
which  is  concerned  with  resistance  to  fear  in  the  pres- 
ence of  danger  and  death.  But  when  we  compare  the 
Greek  conception  of  it  with  our  own,  we  .become  con- 
scious of  the  same  kind  of  difference  which  we  saw  above 
characterised  all  higher  as  compared  with  lower  forms 
of  organic  life.  It  has  become  more  differentiated. 
As  has  been  well  pointed  out,|  our  conception  of  the 
kind  of  pains  in  reference  to  which  the  virtue  is  ex- 
hibited has  greatly  widened.  Besides  danger  and  death 
in  battle,  there  is  the  danger  to  health  and  life  in  the 
mission  field,  the  city  slum,  and  the  fever  ward,  which 

*  I  take  many  hints  in  the  ensuing   illustrations  from-  Green's 
suggestive  treatment  of  this  subject,  Proleg.  to  Ethics,  Book  III. 
t  See  Republic,  III.,  §  429,  and  Nicomachean  Ethics,  III.,  6,  9. 
X  Green,  loc.  cit.,  p.  279. 


2o8  Ethics  [Bk.  V 

makes  the  foreign  missionary,  the  skim  sister,  and  the 
hospital  nurse  as  heroic  types  among  ourselves  as  the 
citizen  soldier  was  among  the  Greeks.  In  these  cases 
perhaps  the  difference  is  not  so  great  but  that  we  should 
class  them  all  under  the  old  title  of  courage,  but,  as  the 
sphere  of  the  virtue  widens,  parts  of  it  tend  to  break 
away  and  appropriate  to  themselves  new  names.  Thus, 
as  the  conception  of  the  kind  of  pains  in  reference  to 
which  fortitude  may  be  exhibited  widens  so  as  to 
embrace  not  only  physical  pains,  but  those  which  bear 
but  a  remote  resemblance  to  them,  not  only  those  which 
may  be  inflicted  by  enemies,  but  those  that  spring  from 
disagreement  and  misunderstandings  with  one's  friends,* 
we  have  what  is  practically  a  new  variety  of  the  virtue 
— that  which  for  want  of  a  better  name  we  call  moral 
courage. 

With  this  differentiation,  which  corresponds  to  the 
extension  of  the  area  covered  by  the  virtue,  there  goes 
a  greater  integration,  corresponding  to  the  deepening  of 
the  consciousness  of  its  significance.  For  it  is  just  the 
relation  which  the  virtue  is  felt  to  bear  to  human  prog- 
ress in  general  which,  while  opening  up  new  fields  for 
its  exercise,  places  the  new  forms  thus  generated,  as  well 
as  the  forms  previously  recognised,  in  closer  relation  to 
one  another,  and  to  virtue  as  a  whole.  A  Greek  would 
have  been  at  a  loss  how  to  class  the  forms  of  virtue 
which  we  have  mentioned  above  as  typical  of  our  own 

*  As  examples  of  the  pains  in  question  may  be  taken  those  of  the 
social  ostracism  inflicted  by  the  majority  of  a  particular  class  or 
profession  upon  an  offending  member,  e.g.,  by  a  church  upon  a 
clergyman  who  denounces  its  corruptions,  or  by  the  press  upon  an 
editor  who  denounces  forms  of  social  immorality  that  are  generally 
winked  at. 


Ch.  II]  The  Standard  as  Progressive  209 

time.  He  could  hardly  have  denied  that  they  were  /ike 
courage,  but  without  the  fully  developed  notion  of 
human  brotherhood,  he  would  have  found  it  difficult 
to  invent  a  formula  which  could  have  given  the  clue  to 
the  underlying  identity.  We,  on  the  other  hand,  while 
recognising  new  forms  of  the  virtue,  perceive  them  only 
to  be  extensions  of  it,  required  by  wider  conceptions  of 
that  "  society  "  in  relation  to  which  alone  it  has  meaning. 
At  the  same  time,  we  interpret  the  virtue  of  courage  itself 
as  only  a  particular  form  of  virtue  in  general.  We  recog- 
nise it  as  only  "the  form  which  individual  and  social 
virtue  take  in  presence  of  the  obstacles,  both  moral  and 
physical,  presented  by  the  environment  to  the  realisation 
of  the  common  human  good."* 

§  88.    Illustration  from  Temperance 

In  further  illustration  of  this  truth  we  may  quote  the 
virtue  which  the  Greeks  called  Temperance,  but  which 
we  should  call  Self-control.  Along  with  extended  ideas 
of  our  duty  to  humanity,  and  especially  to  women,  has 
gone  the  application  of  the  virtue  to  new  relations.  An 
obvious  instance  of  the  former  is  the  appropriation  of 
the  word  "  temperance  "  to  a  special  form  of  self-control, 
viewed  as  a  duty  to  society  at  large  as  much  as  to 
oneself  or  to  the  state.  From  the  general  virtue  of 
self-control  in  matters  of  sense,  self-control  in  matters 
of  drink  has  broken  away,  and  set  up,  as  it  were,  for 
itself  as  an  independent  virtue.  Similarly,  the  range  of 
the  virtue  of  self-control  in  matters  of  sex  has  immensely 
widened.     Under  the  influence  of  new  conceptions  of 

*  I  am  indebted  for  this  definition  to  Lux  Miindi,  p.  496 
(ist  ed.). 


2IO  Ethics  [Bk.  V 

the  position  of  women  which  were  contained  in  gem  in 
the  Christian  religion,  a  new  emphasis  came  to  be  laid 
on  the  virtue  in  question,  which,  under  the  names  of 
chastity  and  chivalry,  is  more  than  any  other  the  key- 
stone of  the  modern  form  of  social  organisation.* 

With  this  differentiation  has  gone  hand  in  hand,  as  in 
the  case  of  courage,  a  new  conception  of  the  relation  of 
these  forms  to  one  another,  and  to  virtue  as  a  whole, 
corresponding  to  the  movement  of  integration.  Thus,  to 
take  our  previous  instance,  it  was  difficult  to  see,  so  long 
as  the  view  was  confined  to  the  narrow  field  of  the  Greek 
community,  what  was  the  precise  relation  of  chastity  to 
the  other  forms  of  temperance  and  to  virtue  as  a  whole. 
Accordingly,  as  is  well  known  to  any  one  familiar  with 
Greek  literature,  it  was  the  virtue  most  to  seek  in  the 
character  of  the  average  good  citizen.  Even  Socrates 
plays  with  unnameable  forms  of  its  corresponding  vice, 
while  Plato  proposes  a  special  exemption  from  its  re- 
quirements as  the  reward  of  the  youthful  heroes  in  his 
"Republic."  As  a  matter  of  fact,  in  the  so-called  mill- 
tary  age,  and  in  military  circles  in  industrial  ages,  it  has 
always  tended  to  fall   into  the  background. f     It  is  only 

*  These  examples,  it  may  be  noted  by  the  way,  are  a  further 
comment  on  Mr.  Spencer's  conception  of  an  absolute  ethics,  and  a 
state  of  society  where  all  sense  of  duty,  as  involving  pain,  will  dis- 
appear. As  already  pointed  out,  his  theory  is  based  on  the  notion 
that  the  environment  is  something  definite 'and  fixed.  But,  as  we 
have  just  seen,  our  conception  of  the  environment,  and  the  obstacles 
it  presents  to  the  realisation  of  the  good,  changes  with  the  deepen- 
ing of  our  conception  of  the  nature  of  the  good  itself.  Hence  it 
involves  as  much  pain  (perhaps  more,  see  above,  p.  208  «.)  to  be 
courageous  or  chaste  to-day  as  in  Athens  in  the  fourth  century  B.C. 
With  progress  "  more  is  required  of  us." 

t  "  It  is  not  \\  ithout  reason  that  the  earliest  mythology  united  Ares 


Ch.  II]  The  Standard  as  Progressive  211 

in  view  of  a  higher  conception  of  the  rights  of  women, 
as  members  of  a  universal  fellowship  and  joint-partners 
in  a  common  good,  that  the  true  significance  of  the 
virtue,  and  the  relation  of  its  various  forms  to  one  an- 
other and  to  the  universal  moral  order,  come  into  sight. 


§  89.     Summary 

Similar  illustrations  of  the  view  for  which  I  am 
contending  might  be  drawn  from  the  rise  of  the  virt- 
ues of  humility,  mercy,  truth,  tolerance,  class  justice, 
esprit  de  corps,*  etc.,  but  sufficient  has  perhaps  been 
said  to  show  that  the  actual  standard  at  any  particular 
period,  while  undoubtedly  relative  to  the  special  cir- 
cumstances of  the  time  and  country,  is  not  on  that 
account  an  isolated  and  accidental  phenomenon,  but 
takes  its  place  as  a  stage  in  the  evolution  of  a  universal 
moral  order,  from  its  relation^to  which  in  the  last  resort 
it  derives  its  significance.!    The  practical  conclusion  to 

and  Aphrodite." — Aristotle,  Politics,  II.,  9  (Bohn's  Library,  p.  62)  ; 
see  the  whole  passage. 

*  A  simple  example  of  the  process  of  differentiation  spoken  of 
above  is  the  Latin  pietas,  which  is  now  represented  by  several 
virtues,  chiefly  those  classed  under  involuntary  social  relations  in 
our  table  (p.  186).  Max  Miiller  somewhere  mentions  a  people  (the 
Hawaiians)  who  have  only  one  word  (aloha)  for  love,  friendship, 
gratitude,  benevolence,  and  respect. 

t  The  "universality"  which  is  thus  opposed  to  the  "relativity" 
of  the  standard  must  not  be  misunderstood.  After  what  has  been 
already  said,  it  cannot,  of  course,  mean  that  morality  can  ever  come 
to  be  "the  same  for  all":  duty  is  duty  just  because  it  is  different 
for  all.  Nor  can  it  mean  the  "finality"  of  any  conceivable  moral 
code.  We  have  already  seen  sufficient  reason  to  distrust  the 
conception  of  a  final  or  absolute  ethics.  It  cannot  even  mean 
merely  the  "  ubiquity  "  of  the  highest  recognised  standard,  though 


212  Ethics  [Bk.  V 

which  the  preceding  discussion  points  is  that  moral 
obligation  at  any  particular  stage  rests,  not  merely  on  the 
call  to  maintain  a  particular  form  of  moral  organisation, 
but  to  maintain  and  forward  the  cause  of  moral  order  as 
a  whole.* 

§  90.    Further  Question 

But  before  we  can  regard  this  conclusion  as  satisfac- 
torily established,  we  have  to  encounter  the  second  of  the 
two  questions  with  which  we  were  threatened  at  the  end 
of  the  last  chapter.  Duty  or  obligation,  as  I  have  already 
had  occasion  repeatedly  to  point  out,  rests  on  a  personal 
interest  in  a  moral  order,  which  when  it  is  reflected  upon 
we  recognise  as  "good,"  i.e.,  as  the  revelation  to  man  of 
what  he  himself  truly  is  or  has  it  in  him  to  become. 
But  how,  it  may  be  asked,  can  such  an  interest  come  to 
attach  to  the  moral  order,  the  law  of  whose  evolution  we 
have  just  been  describing,  if,  as  is  commonly  added,  not 
only  the  lines  which  it  follows  coincide  with  those  of 
biological  evolution,  but  the  cause  which  is  at  work  in 
producing  it  is  in  both  cases  the  same?  If,  as  is 
claimed,  the  process  has  been  determined  throughout  by 
the  natural  law  of  adaptation  to  environment  and  survival 
of  the  fittest,  and  is  thus  explicable  without  reference  to 

this  is  undoubtedly  an  element  in  it.  The  moral  order  which  is 
being  evolved  must  be  conceived  of  as  universal,  chiefly  in  the  sense 
that  it  represents  the  demands  of  the  universal  or  rational  element 
in  human  nature.  My  meaning  will  become  apparent  in  the  light 
of  considerations  which  I  reserve  for  the  next  chapter. 

*  The  endeavour  to  further  evolution,  especially  that  of  the 
human  race,  has  been  put  forward  by  scientific  writers  as  a  "  new 
duty."  It  would  be  better  to  say  that  it  is  a  fundamental  aspect  of 
old  ones. 


Ch.  II]  TJte  Standard  as  Progressive  213 

any  free  self-determination  on  the  part  of  man,  in  what 
sense,  it  may  be  asked,  can  the  result  of  the  action  of  this 
biological  law,  viz.,  the  existing  moral  order,  be  said  to 
represent  such  a  good?  To  answer  this  question,  it  is 
necessary  that  we  should  enter  more  fully  than  we  have 
yet  done  into  the  question  of  the  source  or  spring  of  the 
moral  evolution  I  have  been  describing,  in  order  to  see 
whether  it  is  true,  as  has  just  been  suggested,  that  in 
accepting  the  evolutionist's  statement  of  the  course  that 
moral  evolution  takes,  we  necessarily  accept  his  account 
of  the  cause  that  explains  it. 

Simply  stated,  the  question,  then,  is  whether  the  en- 
largement and  enrichment  of  the  moral  standard,  which 
we  have  observed  to  be  taking  place,  is  sufficiently  ex- 
plained as  the  result  of  a  mechanical  process  of  adap- 
tation to  environment,  determined,  like  biological  evolu- 
tion, at  each  step  from  without,  and  following  the  course 
laid  down  for  it  by  purely  natural  causes;  or  whether 
there  is  not  also  required  a  reference  to  the  action  at 
each  stage  of  a  self-conscious  intelligence,  seeking  its 
good  as  such,  and  evolving  step  by  step  from  the  raw 
material  of  its  surroundings  a  system  of  social  relations, 
in  the  maintenance  and  development  of  which  that  good 
may  be  found.  The  question,  it  will  be  acknowledged,  is 
an  important  one  at  the  stage  of  our  argument  at  which 
we  have  arrived.  For  if  the  evolution  is  after  all  merely 
natural,  the  objections  which  we  have  ourselves  urged 
against  the  scientific  or  evolutionary  doctrine  of  the 
standard  of  morality  will  be  found  to  apply  after  all, 
though  at  a  later  stage  of  the  investigation  and  in  a 
somewhat  different  form,  to  our  own  account.  Unless 
the  results  of  the  progress  can  be  shown  to  be  elements  in 
a  more  or  less  clearly  conceived  end  or  good,  obligation, 


214  Ethics  ■         [Bk.  V 

which  we  have  seen  to  depend  on  the  relation  between 
conduct  and  personal  good,  is  still  without  a  foothold, 
even  on  the  supposition  of  a  universal  moral  order. 

If  we  are  to  bring  together  the  results  just  obtained 
with  those  of  our  previous  argument,  we  cannot  refuse  to 
consider  this  difficulty. 


Ch.  Ill]  The  Standard  as  Ideal  215 


CHAPTER   III 

THE    STANDARD    AS    IDEAL 

Part  I 

§  91.    The  Question  involves  Metaphysical 
Considerations 

The  difficulty  started,  but  left  unsolved,  at  the  end  of 
the  last  chapter,  shortly  stated,  is :  Whether  progress  in 
morality  generally  is  explicable  in  terms  of  efficient  causes 
as  the  result  of  adjustment  to  environment,  as  ordinarily 
interpreted;  or  whether  it  does  not  involve  a  reference  to 
an  end  or  ideal  more  or  less  consciously  conceived  by  a 
subject,  to  whom  changes  in  the  environment  and  the  ad- 
justments rendered  necessary  by  them  are  merely  the 
opportunity  for  further  self-realisation.  So  stated,  the 
question  introduces  wide  issues,  which  I  cannot  hope  in 
the  last  chapter  of  a  text-book  like  the  present  to  treat  as 
they  deserve.  Thus,  to  be  satisfactorily  answered,  it  would 
require  to  be  discussed  in  close  connection  with  the 
general  question  of  the  relation  of  the  self  or  conscious 
subject  as  a  whole  to  the  world  which  constitutes  its  ob- 
ject or  environment.  This,  however,  would  bring  me 
into  dangerous  proximity  with  the  metaphysical  discus- 
sions which  at  the  outset  I  abjured;  so  that  I  seem  to  be 


2i6  Ethics  [Bk.  V 

caught  in  the  dilemma  of  either  abruptly  ending  my  argu- 
ment in  the  face  of  an  unsolved  difficulty,  or  using  my 
last  chapter  to  break  new  ground  and  pass  beyond  the 
limits  I  imposed  upon  myself.  I  shall  not  deceive 
the  reader,  but  confess  to  him  my  intention  of  choosing 
the  latter  alternative.  The  shock  to  him  will,  perhaps, 
be  mitigated  by  the  recollection  that  in  the  last  two  or 
three  sections  we  have  admittedly  been  prospecting  on 
the  borders  of  that  thorny  region.  In  the  following 
section  I  shall  ask  him  boldly  to  step  across  with 
\e  and  take  a  look  at  things  at  home  from  the  other 
side,  at  the  same  time  promising  not  to  lead  him  further 
into  its  dangerous  wildernesses  than  is  necessary  in  order 
to  get  a  clearer  view  of  the  point  we  have  reached  and 
the  path  by  which  we  have  come. 

§  92.     Consciousness  as  Active  Principle  in 
Knowledge 

The  old-fashioned  view  of  the  relation  of  the  conscious 
subject  to  the  external  world  is  that  the  knowledge  of  the 
latter  is  impressed  upon  it  from  without.  The  subject 
is  the  passive  receptacle  of  feelings,  sensations,  and  ideas 
which  come  to  it.  Progress  consists  in  the  storage,  classifi- 
cation.and  acquired  power  of  recalling  and  utilising  these 
possessions  at  the  proper  moment.  A  little  reflection, 
however,  is  sufficient  to  dispel  the  illusion  on  which  this 
view  is  based.  Thus,  to  take  the  lowest  element  in 
knowledge,  sensation,  it  is  a  commonplace  of  the  text- 
books to  point  out  that  in  the  last  analysis  the  so-called 
external  world  reduces  itself  to  stimuli  imparted  to  the 
physical  organism.  To  a  certain  extent  it  may  be  said 
that  differences  in  sensation  depend  on  differences  in  the 
stimuli,  which  in  turn  resolve  themselves  into  differences 


Ch.  iiij  lite  Standard  as  Ideal  217 

in  the  rate  of  velocity  in  the  vibrations  which  cause  them. 
Vibrations  of  a  low  rate  of  velocity  affect  us  through  the 
sense  of  touch,  as  a  feeling  of  jar.  When  the  velocity 
reaches  some  20,000  per  second  we  have  a  sensation  of 
sound.  Above  40,000  per  second  we  no  longer  hear 
them.  When  they  reach  a  much  higher  number  we  begin 
to  have  sensations  of  colour,  beginning  with  red,  and 
passing  through  the  chromatic  scale  to  violet.  Above 
a  certain  point  they  are  too  numerous  to  be  responded 
to  by  the  visual  apparatus,  and  light  disappears.  In  all 
which  the  point  to  be  observed  is  that,  as  it  has  been  well 
put,  "  out  of  what  is  in  itself  an  undistinguishable,  swarm- 
ing continuum,  devoid  of  distinction  or  emphasis,  otir 
senses  make  for  us  ...  a  world  full  of  contrasts,  of 
sharp  accents,  of  abrupt  changes,  of  picturesque  light  and 
shade."  So  that  even  on  the  plane  of  the  senses  which 
we  share  with  the  lower  animals,  the  world  of  knowledge 
is  not  so  much  a  revelation  of  an  external  universe  as  a 
revelation  of  our  own  nature  as  sentient  beings. 

Coming  to  the  subject  or  self,  as  a  conscious  principle 
of  unity  amid  the  variety  of  presentations,  we  may  see  that 
this  is  even  more  obviously  true.  It  is  not,  of  course, 
contended  that  the  mind  can  evolve  knowledge  from  its 
inner  consciousness,  any  more  than  sensations  can  call 
themselves  into  being  without  aid  from  external  stimuli. 
What  is  asserted  is,  that  it  does  not  approach  the  world 
as  a  passive  receptacle,  or,  according  to  the  well-known 
metaphor,  a  tabula  rasa,  on  which  the  world  to  be 
known  imprints  itself.  From  the  outset  it  is  an  active 
principle  of  interpretation,  to  which  the  world  comes  as 
a  system  of  signs,  like  the  signals  received  by  the  clerk 
at  a  telegraphic  depot,  rather  than  as  a  reflection  in  a 
mirror,  or  the  impression  imprinted  by  the  seal  upon  the 


2 1 8  Ethics  [Bk.  V 

wax.  Moreover,  the  standard  of  interpretation  is  fur- 
nished by  itself;  and  the  world  which  it  builds  up  out  of 
the  material  supplied  it  from  without  is  a  memorial  to 
the  fundamental  principles  it  brings  with  it  to  the  work 
{i.e.,  to  the  chief  features  of  its  own  inner  nature),  rather 
than  to  any  world  that  exists  independently  of  it. 


§  93.     The  Unity  of  the  World  as  Postulate  of 
Thought 

The  detailed  account  of  these  principles  is  the  subject- 
matter  of  philosophy  as  the  theory  of  knowledge  and 
reality.  It  is  sufficient  for  our  purpose  to  point  out 
that  the  primary  feature  which  distinguishes  a  con- 
scious self  from  a  merely  sentient  subject  is  that  it 
asserts  its  "personal  identity  "  as  the  underlying  unity 
of  its  transient  experiences.  Even  in  its  most  ele- 
mentary stage,  the  world  of  such  a  self  is  a  unity  in  a 
sense  which  it  is  not  (apparently)  to  the  lower  animals. 
Hence  the  fundamental  principle  it  brings  with  it  to 
the  interpretation  of  the  signs  supplied  it  from  with- 
out *  is  that  they  should  form  an  intelligible  unity  or 
whole.  This  is  the  ideal  to  which,  even  at  its  most 
elementary  stage,  it  demands  that  knowledge  shall  cor- 
respond. If  it  has  no  other  unity  to  the  mind  of  the 
savage  or  the  child,  the  world  at  least  possesses  the 
unity  of  being  in  one  space,  its  events  in  one  order  of 
succession  in  time.  But  this  order  is  not  something 
given.  It  is  the  mind's  first  effort  to  embody  its  ideal  in 
the  data  of  experience.     Advance,  moreover,  does  not 

*  I  use  the  popular  language  in  permitting  myself  to  speak  of 
signs,  material,  etc.,  coming  from  jvithout.  Metaphysics,  of  course, 
has  something  further  to  say  on  this  externality. 


Ch.  Ill]  The  Standard  as  Ideal  219 

come  from  without  by  the  mere  heaping  up  of  expe- 
riences. It  is  an  advance  to  higher  forms  of  unity 
among  them,  and  this  advance  is  forced  upon  the  subject 
by  the  demand  which  its  own  nature,  as  active  intelli- 
gence, makes  upon  it, — the  demand,  namely,  to  see  in 
the  so-called  external  world  an  ever  more  perfect  embodi- 
ment of  the  ideal  of  unity  which  itself  supplies.  From 
this  point  of  view,  therefore,  progress  in  knowledge  has 
to  be  looked  at  rather  as  a  progressive  revelation  to  the 
self  of  its  own  nature  than  as  the  unfolding  of  an  external 
world  to  an  observing  subject.* 

From  all  this  two  results  follow.  (1)  The  sciences,  as 
they  exist  at  any  time,  are  not  to  be  looked  at  as  the 
mere  accumulation  of  generalisations  from  experience 
and  the  deductions  which  are  drawn  from  them,  but  as 
actual  embodiments  of  mind.  They  are  the  best  up-to- 
date  account  which  mind  can  give  of  itself — the  reflection 
or  mirror  of  its  inner  nature  so  far  as  revealed  upon  this 
globe.  (2)  Progress  comes  from  within.  New  objects 
and  events  are  the  occasion,  not  the  cause  or  primary 

*  "  Nervous,  signs,"  says  Bowne  (quoted,  James's  Principles  of 
Psychology,  I.,  p.  220),  "are  the  raw  material  of  all  knowledge  of 
the  outer  world.  .  .  .  But,  in  order  to  pass  beyond  these  signs  into 
a  knowledge  of  the  outer  world,  we  must  posit  an  interpreter  who 
shall  read  back  these  signs  into  their  objective  meaning.  But  that 
interpreter,  again,  must  implicitly  contain  the  meaning  of  the  uni- 
verse within  itself,  and  these  signs  are  really  but  excitations  which 
cause  the  soul  to  unfold  what  is  within  itself.  Inasmuch  as  by 
common  consent  the  soul  communicates  with  the  outer  world  only 
through  these  signs,  and  never  comes  nearer  to  the  object  than  such 
signs  can  bring  it,  it  follows  that  the  principles  of  interpretation 
must  be  in  the  mind  itself,  and  that  the  resulting  construction  is 
primarily  only  an  expression  of  the  mind's  own  nature.  All  reaction 
is  of  this  sort ;  it  expresses  the  nature  of  the  reacting  agent."  ■  Cp. 
Note  at  end  of  preceding  book. 


2  20  Ethics  [Bk.  V 

source,  of  intellectual  development.  What  Aristotle  says 
of  political  revolutions  is  true  of  scientific  progress :  it  is 
the  outcome  of  great  causes  and  small  occasions.  The 
fall  of  an  apple  may  be  the  occasion  of  the  discovery  of  a 
law  which  may  be  said  to  have  remade  the  world  for 
scientific  men;  but  the  cause  is  in  the  ideal  of  a  self- 
consistent  system  of  planetary  movements,  as  that  was 
conceived  in  Newton's  mind.  So  generally,  unless  con- 
sciousness were  the  seat  of  an  ideal  of  a  completely  uni- 
fied world  of  mutually  related  parts,  progress,  in  any 
intelligible  sense,  would  be  impossible.  It  is  only  in  so 
far  as  the  new  materials  are  interpreted  in  the  light  of  its 
own  principles,  and  are  seen  by  the  mind  further  to  fill 
out  and  illustrate  the  ideal  it  cherishes  of  completed 
knowledge  or  of  a  completely  knowing  self,  that  there 
can  be  said  to  be  growth  and  progress  in  knowledge.* 

§  94.    Conscience  and  Consciousness 

Now  conscience  is  only  another  side  of  consciousness. 
It  is  in  the  field  of  practice  what  consciousness  is  in  the 
field  of  knowledge.  This  fundamental  identity  is  already 
indicated  in  the  words  themselves.  Consciousness  {con- 
scire)  is  the  sense  we  have  of  ourselves,  as  realised  in  the 
mode  of  activity  we  call  knowledge;  conscience  (also 
conscire  ;  cp.  Old  Eng.  inwii)  is  the  sense  we  have  of  our- 
selves as  realised  in  conduct.     Hence  we  may  expect  to 

*  Practically  this  dependence  of  the  mind  in  intellectual  progress 
upon  its  ability  to  see  in  the  new  facts  a  further  revelation  of  itself 
takes  the  form  of  the  familiar  statement  that  intellectual  effort  de- 
pends upon  interest, — interest  being  the  emotional  satisfaction  which 
an  object  gives  us  as  a  possible  means  of  further  self-realisation. 
Cp.  Dewey,  op.  cit.,  §§  xxxiv.  foil.;  also  on  general  subject  of  this 
section,  §  xl. 


Cii.  riij  21u'  Standard  as  Ideal  221 

find  interesting  analogies  cropping  up  between  lliem  in 
respect  to  the  relations  discussed  in  the  last  paragraph. 
Of  these  it  is  here  important  to  note  (i)  that  the  objective 
world  of  human  relations  is  to  conscience  what  the  exter- 
nal world  of  experience  is  to  consciousness.  Just  as  we 
saw  that,  apart  from  the  interpreting  and  constructive 
power  of  the  human  mind,  the  external  world  is  merely 
a  chaos  of  nervous  movements,  so,  apart  from  the  inter- 
preting power  of  conscience,  the  relations  and  institu- 
tions of  society  are  mere  physical  facts  without  moral 
meaning.*  (2)  As  the  principle  of  interpretation  in 
the  former  case  is  the  ideal  which  the  conscious  self 
cherishes  of  a  unified  world  of  experience,  representing 
its  own  complete  realisation  as  a  principle  of  knowledge, 
so  the  principle  which  conscience  brings  to  the  interpre- 
tation of  external  circumstances  is  the  ideal  of  a  system 
of  moral  relations,  representing  its  own  realisation  as  a 
principle  of  conduct.  (3)  As,  finally,  progress  in  knowl- 
edge was  shown  not  to  come  from  without,  but  to  be  the 
result  of  the  inner  demand  of  the  self  for  a  more  and 
more  perfect  embodiment  of  its  ideal  of  unified  knowl- 
edge, so  progress  in  morality  has  its  spring,  not  in  mere 

*  The  question  is  sometimes  asked  whether  any  sane  person  is 
wholly  devoid  of  conscience.  I  am  not  here  concerned  to  find  the 
answer  to  this  conundrum,  but  merely  to  point  out  that  in  pro- 
portion as  any  one  approaches  such  a  hmit,  moral  relations  and 
institutions  tend  to  lose  their  meaning  for  him.  To  Hedda  Gabler, 
in  Ibsen's  play  of  that  name,  moral  sacrifices  are  simply  unintelli- 
gible. She  does  not  understand  those  who  make  them.  Her 
dislike  of  them  (^e.g.,  of  her  aunt)  is  merely  the  dislike  of  a  clever 
girl  to  what  is  stupid  and  unreasonable.  If  she  had  had  a  little 
more  conscience,  her  dislil-ce  would  have  turned  into  hatred.  For  in 
that  case  she  would  have  recognised  them  as  persons  whose  conduct 
was  a  standing  reproof  to  her  own  almost  liendisli  selfisliness. 


2  22  Ethics  [Bk.  V 

adjustment  of  the  self  to  changing  circumstances,  but  in 
the  interpreting,  constructive  power  of  conscience  finding 
in  new  circumstances  the  occasion  for  the  further  reali- 
sation of  its  ideal  of  rationalised  and  unified  conduct. 

§  95.    Relation  of  Conscience  to  Social  Environment 

If  now  we  return  from  this  somewhat  abstract  discus- 
sion, and  ask  what  is  its  bearing  on  the  question  with 
which  w^e  started,  viz.,  the  relation  of  the  subjective  ele- 
ment in  morality  {i.e.,  conscience)  to  the  objective  {i.e., 
social  conventions  and  institutions),  we  have  to  note: — 

(i)  That  the  above  argument  has  confirmed  from  a 
new  point  of  view  the  doctrine  developed  in  a  previous 
chapter,  viz.,  that  the  system  of  social  institutions, 
among  which  the  individual  finds  himself,  is  only  the 
other  or  objective  side  of  the  organic  system  of  impulses 
and  desires  that  constitute  his  inward  nature.  It  is  so 
because,  as  we  have  just  seen,  it  is  the  result  of  the 
reaction  upon  his  environment  of  a  self-conscious,  or,  as 
we  may  now  say,  "conscientious"  being,  who  seeks  to 
create  out  of  it  a  system  of  relations  corresponding  to 
the  ideal  which  his  nature,  as  conscious  intelligence, 
forces  upon  his  notice.  It  thus  comes  to  the  individ- 
ual as  a  species  of  objectified  conscience.  It  supplies 
him  with  an  objective  expression  of  the  chief  contents  of 
the  ideal  which  he  himself,  as  sharing  the  intelligence 
and  conscience  embodied  in  these  forms,  is  called  upon 
to  make  actual.  Practically,  this  is  of  immense  value  to 
him.  For,  in  the  first  place,  he  is  not  left  to  the  subjective 
witness  of  his  own  reason  to  interpret  the  demands  of 
conscience.  These  are  already  writ  large  in  the  social 
relations  into  which  he  is  born,  or,  as  we  previously 


Ch.  Ill]  The  Standard  as  Ideal  223 

expressed  it,  in  his  station  and  its  duties.  Secondly, 
these  relations  present  him  with  a  standard  by  which  he 
may  correct  his  own  subjective  judgments.  Conscience, 
if  left  to  itself,  is  liable  to  run  into  all  kinds  of  caprice. 
Unless  its  judgments  are  constantly  checked  by  a  refer- 
ence to  actual  social  requirements,  as  by  a  kind  of 
"double  entry,"  it  may  easily  be  transformed  from  a 
guarantee  of  social  solidarity  into  a  principle  of  isolation 
and  anarchy.* 

(2)  But,  while  the  social  environment  is  thus  an  in- 
valuable aid  to  the  individual  conscience  in  interpreting 
its  own  ideal,  the  conscience  is  always  reacting  on  the 
environment.  A  man's  "station  and  its  duties"  is  not 
the  fixed  quantity  we  are  apt  to  suppose.-  It  is  not  a 
"bed  of  Procrustes"  to  which  he  has  permanently  to 
adapt  himself;  rather  it  is  a  "leaden  rule  "  which  has  to 
adapt  itself  to  him.  The  good  life  is  not,  except  in 
a  society  of  Podsnaps,  a  treadmill  of  recurring  duties, 
keeping  a  man  in  a  state  of  stable  equilibrium  with  his  en- 
vironment. It  is  a  "  moving  equilibrium,"  changing  and 
expanding  as  new  circumstances  arise,  which  conscience 
interprets  in  its  own  way  as  "further  calls. "f  New  in- 
terests develop  from  the  old  ones,  which,  conscientiously 
pursued,  tend  to  change  the  whole  aspect  of  his  environ- 
ment.! While,  therefore,  it  is  true  that  a  man's  duties 
at  any  particular  moment  may  be  expressed  in  terms  of 

*  It  has  been  observed  that  Intuitionalist  thinkers,  who  in  their 
ethical  analysis  begin  and  end  with  conscience,  tend  to  be  indi- 
vidualists in  politics. 
t  As  Lowell  has  it — 

"New  occasions  teach  new  duties; 
Time  makes  ancient  good  uncouth." 
X  A  familiar  instance  is  when  a  man  marries. 


2  24  Ethics  [Bk.  V 

definite  social  relations,  yet,  as  a  being  with  a  conscience 
{i.e.,  a  moral  ideal),  he  can  never  find  adequate  expression 
for  himself  in  them,  but  has  to  seek  new  occasions  for 
the  exercise  of  his  virtue  or  excellence  as  a  man.  He 
has  "ideas  beyond  his  station."  Progress  for  himself 
and  the  society  in  which  he  lives  depends  upon  his  follow- 
ing their  lead  into  new  social  combinations,  resulting  in 
a  richer  form  of  life  for  himself  and  others,* 

§  96.    Is  the  Ideal  Social  or  Personal? 

A  question  might  here  be  raised  as  to  whether  the 
ideal  which  is  thus  seen  to  be  the  source  of  progress 
is  primarily  one  of  a  better  form  of   social  life  or  a 

*  These  two  aspects  of  the  moral  life  have  found  so  admirable 
a  literary  expression  in  Mazzini's  essay  "  On  the  Condition  of 
Europe "  (see  Essays,  Camelot  Series,  p.  286)  that  I  cannot 
refrain  from  quoting  him  : — "  Life  is  one :  the  individual  and 
society  are  its  two  necessary  manifestations;  life  considered  singly 
and  life  in  relation  to  others.  .  .  .  The  individual  and  society  are 
sacred;  not  only  because  they  are  two  great y?zcA  which  cannot  be 
abolished,  and  which  consequently  we  must  endeavour  to  con- 
ciliate, but  because  they  represent  the  only  two  criteria  which  we 
possess  for  realising  our  object,  the  trufli, — namely,  conscience  and 
tradition.  The  manifestation  of  truth  being  progressive,  these  two 
instruments  for  its  discovery  ought  to  be  continually  transformed 
and  perfected;  but  we  cannot  suppress  them  without  condemning 
ourselves  to  eternal  darkness.  We  cannot  suppress  or  subalternise 
one  without  irreparably  mutilating  our  power.  Individuality,  that 
is  to  say,  conscience,  applied  alone,  leads  to  anarchy;  society,  that  is 
to  say,  tradition,  if  it  be  not  constantly  interpreted  and  impelled 
upon  the  route  of  the  future  by  the  intuition  of  conscience,  begets 
despotism  and  immobility.  Truth  is  found  at  their  point  of  inter- 
section. It  is  forbidden,  then,  to  the  individual  to  emancipate 
himself  from  the  social  object  which  constitutes  his  task  here 
below,  and  forbidden  to  society  to  crush  or  tvrannise  over  the 
individual." 


Ch.  Ill]  The  Standard  as  Ideal  225 

higher  type  of  personal  character.*  Different  answers 
will  probably  be  given  in  the  case  of  different  individ- 
uals. Where  sympathy  and  imagination  are  active, 
the  inner  call  tends  at  once  to  be  translated  into  terms 
of  higher  forms  of  social  well-being.  On  the  other 
hand,  where  sympathy  and  imagination  are  sluggish, 
but  the  will  strong  and  the  purpose  earnest,  the  call  may 
come  rather  in  the  form  of  a  demand  for  greater  purity 
of  motive  and  more  consistent  character.  Each  of  these 
forms  of  conscientiousness  has  its  advantages  and  its 
dangers.  The  advantage  of  the  former  is  the  enthusiasm 
that  goes  along  with  it.  Effort  is  inspired  and  sustained 
by  the  vision  of  the  new  heavens  and  the  new  earth. 
The  danger  is  that  the  cultivation  of  qualities  of  char- 
acter, on  which,  in  the  last  resort,  all  social  well-being 
depends,  should  be  neglected  for  the  sake  of  "quick 
returns  "  in  the  shape  of  increase  of  general  happiness. 
Th'e  advantage  of  the  latter  is  that  the  will  is  bent  on 
being  itself  that  which,  in  so  far  as  general  well-being  is 
the  end,  it  must  wish  all  other  wills  to  be.  The  cor- 
responding danger  is  that  the  essentially  social  character 
of  all  forms  of  goodness  should  drop  out  of  sight,  and 
that  wholeness  (in  the  sense  explained  in  Book  IV.) 
'should  be  sacrificed  to  holiness.  The  two  attitudes,  how- 
ever, can  never  be  entirely  separate  in  any  one  whom 
we  judge  morally  good.  Purity  of  will  is  only  possible 
to  one  who  is  absorbed  in  the  higher  interests  of  life. 
On  the  other  hand,  unless  we  are  to  suppose  it  possible 

*  For  the  points  of  contrast  and  the  fundamental  identity  in  the 
saintly  and  the  reforming  type  of  character,  see  Green's  Prolegomena, 
Book  IV.,  ch.  v.;  and  on  the  subject  of  conscientiousness  generally, 
ibid.,  pp.  323-37;  Martineau,  op.  cit.,  Vol.  II.,  pp.  59  foil.;  Alex- 
ander, op.  cit.,  pp.  156-60;   Dewey,  op.  cit.,  §  Ixiii. 


2  26  Ethia  [Bk.  v 

to  gather  "grapes  of  thorns,  or  figs  of  thistles,"  social 
progress  cannot  be  safe  in  the  hands  of  those  in  whom 
the  desire  for  social  improvement  does  not  involve  a 
keen  sense  of  personal  responsibility,  and  a  high  ideal 
of  the  kind  of  life  required  in  those  who  claim  to  be  its 
prophets  and  evangelists. 

Part  II 
§  97.    Evolutionary  Account  of  Moral  Progress 

The  reader  will  have  already  perceived  that  the  answer 
to  the  question  with  which  we  closed  the  last  chapter  is 
involved  in  the  foregoing  argument.  It  remains  for  me 
only  further  to  illustrate  what  has  just  been  said  by  indi- 
cating how  the  ordinary  account  of  the  evolution  of 
morality  requires  to  be  supplemented,  in  order  to  bring 
it  into  harmony  with  the  view  I  have  taken  throughout 
of  the  nature  of  moral  judgment  and  the  ground  of 
obligation.  In  doing  so  I  shall  assume  that  the  evolu- 
tionists' treatment  of  the  origin  and  growth  of  morality 
is  fairly  familiar  to  the  reader,  and  that  a  short  allusion 
to  it  will  suffice. 

In  this  treatment  attention  is  called  to  the  important 
part  which  the  struggle  for  existence  and  the  law  of  nat- 
ural selection  have  played  in  the  evolution  of  morality. 
Thus,  it  is  shown  how  at  the  outset  the  pressure  of 
environment  forced  the  members  of  hostile  tribes  into 
closer  union  with  one  another,  developing  social  soli- 
darity, and  with  it  the  virtues  on  which  it  depended. 
Progress  was  conditional  on  the  survival  of  those  tribes 
whose  members  best  responded  to  the  social  require- 
ments thus  forced  upon  them,  and  on  the  consolidation 
and  propagation  of  the  form  of  social  organisation  and 


Ch.  Ill]  The  Standard  as  Ideal  227 

the  standard  of  morality  corresponding  to  this  response. 
In  this  way,  to  take  familiar  examples,  the  Judaic  organi- 
sation asserted  itself  triumphantly  against  the  Canaani- 
tic;  the  Greek  maintained  itself  against  the  Persian,  and 
ultimately,  in  the  conquests  of  Alexander,  overcame  its 
ancestral  rival  in  the  East;  the  Roman  superseded  the 
Greek.  In  modern  times,  the  Protestant  has,  on  the 
whole,  been  victorious  over  the  Catholic;  the  democratic 
and  industrial  over  the  feudal  and  military. 

In  the  common  account  of  the  mode  in  which  the 
law  of  natural  selection  acts  in  the  sphere  of  morality, 
the  emphasis  has  usually  been  laid  on  the  analogy 
between  social  and  biological  evolution.  Little  attempt 
has  been  made  to  note  the  characteristic  differences  in 
the  two  cases.  Recently  the  subject  has  received  more 
careful  treatment  from  evolutionary  writers,*  by  whom 
it  is  pointed  out  that,  whereas  in  the  case  of  the  lower 
animals  and  of  man  in  the  earlier  stages  of  his  develop- 
ment survival  of  the  fittest  is  purchased  at  the  price  of 
the  destruction  of  the  unfit,  in  the  later  stages  of  social 
evolution  this  is  less  and  less  the  case.  Thus,  to 
illustrate  from  our  previous  examples,  the  conquest  of 
Canaan  by  the  Jews  does  not  appear,  in  spite  of  the 
reiterated  instructions  of  priests  and  prophets,  to  have 
been  followed  by  the  extirpation  of  the  inhabitants  of 
the  land.  Nor  were  "the  conquests  of  the  Greeks  and 
Romans  followed,  as  a  rule,  by  the  annihilation  of  their 
enemies.  The  reason  of  this  difference  is  that  with  the 
growth  of  humanitarian  feeling  the  conflict  came  to  be 
one  between  social  and  moral  ideals,  rather  than  between 

*  E.g.,  Mr.  Alexander,  whose  application  of  the  law  of  natural 
selection  to  the  progress  of  the  moral  ideal  is  worthy  of  study,  op. 
cit,  pp.  353  foil. 


2  28  Ethics  [Bk.  V 

nations  as  physical  aggregates.  The  aim  of  the  con- 
queror is  not  to  exterminate,  but  to  "convert"  the 
conquered  by  imposing  his  ideal  upon  him.  As  a  rule, 
he  succeeds,  as  when  Greek  culture  and  modes  of  thought 
overspread  the  East  in  the  track  of  the  armies  of 
Alexander;  or  when  (to  take  a  modern  instance)  the 
expeditions  of  the  Revolution  armies  under  Napoleon 
carried  the  ideas  of  the  French  Republic  through  the 
length  and  breadth  of  Europe.*  In  other  cases  the  ideal 
of  the  conquered  coalesced  with  or  even  overcame  that 
of  the  conquerors,  as  was  notably  the  case  on  the  con- 
quest of  Greece  and  Judaea  by  Rome,  and  of  Rome 
itself  by  the  Goths.f 

The  conflict  of  ideals  within  a  particular  society  serves 
still  better  to  illustrate  this  distinction.  If  swords  have 
not  yet  been  beaten  into  ploughshares  and  spears  into 
pruning  hooks,  they  have  at  any  rate  on  the  field  of  party 
warfare  been  exchanged  for  the  pen,  the  platform,  and 
the  garden  party.  The  end  is  victory  as  before,  but  the 
means  are  persuasion  and  education  (which,  as  has  been 
well  said,  is  only  an  organised  method  of  persuasion). 
So  far  from  exterminating,  or  even  injuring,  its  political 
opponent,  a  victorious  party  heaps  coals  of  fire  upon  his 
head  by  educating  his  children  in  the  victorious  and 
presumably  the  better  ideas. 

*  Substituting,  e.g.,  in  Germany,  the  Code  Napoleon  for  the  feudal 
system  of  land  tenure  that  had  previously  existed.  At  the  present 
moment  we  have  in  Alsace-Lorraine  an  interesting  conflict  proceeding 
between  the  French  and  German  ideals  of  life  and  organisation. 
As  Mr.  Gladstone  once  pointed  out,  the  justification  of  the  retention 
of  these  provinces  by  Germany  will  be  its  power  of  morally  assimi- 
lating them  with  itself,  i.e.,  of  imposing  its  ideal  upon  them. 

t  In  which  cases  Victi  victoribus  leges  dede7-iint. 


Ch.  Ill]  T]ie  Standard  as  Ideal  229 

To  complete  this  sketch  of  the  evohitionists'  account 
of  the  actions  of  "natural  law  in  the  spiritual  world,"  it 
remains  to  be  pointed  out  how,  in  the  view  of  certain 
economic  writers,  all  the  great  steps  in  moral  progress 
are  connected  with  changes  which  the  necessity  of 
adaptation  to  material  environment  has  brought  about. 
Thus,  the  spread  of  humanitarian  feeling  and  ideas  in 
the  early  Roman  empire  is  claimed  as  the  result  of  the 
changes  which  followed  upon  the  break-up  of  the  older 
agricultural  basis  of  society  in  Italy  and  throughout 
the  world,  the  development  of  vast  industries  directed 
by  Roman  princes,  and  the  universal  system  of  trade 
and  finance  introduced  by  Roman  capitalists.  Again, 
it  is  pointed  out  that  the  release  of  the  serfs  in  the 
middle  ages,  which  by  some  is  claimed  as  a  step  in 
moral  progress,  only  followed  the  break-up  of  the  social 
system  which  had  rendered  it  necessary  for  the  baron 
to  support  crowds  of  small  owners  or  crofters  upon  the 
soil.  Slave-emancipation,  in  more  recent  times,  was,  in 
like  manner,  the  result  of  the  discovery  that  the  system 
of  industry  founded  upon  slavery  was  an  unprofitable  one, 
and  unable  to  compete  with  free  labour.  Lastly,  not 
to  multiply  examples,  the  French  Revolution  and  all  the 
moral  enthusiasm  it  awakened  had  their  roots  in  the 
break-down  of  an  effete  system  of  national  finance,  as  is 
well  known  to  all  readers  of  the  Second  Book  of  Carlyle's 
History  of  that  event. 

§  98.    How  this  Account  requires  to  be  Supplemented 

Now  if  these  facts  are  put  forward  as  representing  the 
external  or  material  aspect  of  moral  progress,  their  im- 
portance can  hardly  be  exaggerated.    The  study  of  them 


230  Ethics  [Bk.  V 

bears  much  the  same  relation  to  ethics  as  physiology 
does  to  psychology.  As  the  study  of  the  nervous  system 
and  of  the  brain  throws  important  light  on  the  origin 
and  evolution  of  mind,  so  the  study  of  the  external 
conditions  of  moral  progress  may  be  expected  to  throv^r 
important  light  on  the  origin  and  contents  of  morality. 
If,  however,  they  are  put  forward  as  a  complete  account 
of  the  origin  and  growth  of  moral  ideas,  we  shall  find 
reason  in  the  preceding  argument  for  being  on  our 
guard.  As  ideas  these  are  in  the  mind,  as  moral  ideas 
in  the  conscience,  of  individual  men,  and  in  neither  case 
can  they  be  simply  consequences  of  material  changes. 
So  far  from  external  changes  being  the  cause  of  them, 
these  changes  are  only  operative  as  occasions  of  progress 
in  so  far  as  they  are  interpreted  by  the  reason  and  con- 
science of  individuals  in  the  way  explained  above. 

Thus,  the  struggle  for  existence  has  undoubtedly  tended 
to  promote  the  survival  of  tribes  whose  solid  and  coherent 
organisation  rendered  them  the  fittest,  and  accordingly 
may  be  said  to  be  one  of  the  conditions  of  the  evolution 
of  those  virtues  which,  like  loyalty  to  king  or  chief,  went 
to  support  this  organisation.  But  this  is  only  one  side, 
the  <7z//side  of  the  truth.  Before  the  solidarity — the  loy- 
alty; and  before  the  loyalty,  or  constituting  the  loyalty 
— an  idea  in  the  mind  of  the  individual  member  of  an 
end  or  form  of  self  to  be  realised  in  the  loyal  conduct. 
It  is  not,  of  course,  maintained  that,  at  the  early  stage  of 
evolution  referred  to,  we  are  to  look  for  a  fully  developed 
conscience  any  more  than  for  a  fully  developed  reason. 
All  that  is  asserted  is  that,  so  far  as  there  is  consciousness 
at  all  {i.e.,  so  far  as  we  can  say  that  we  are  dealing  with 
human  history),  there  is  involved  in  its  presence  more 
than  a  mere  instinctive  response  to  the  external  circum- 


Ch.  Ill]  The  Sfajidard  as  Ideal  231 

stances  requiring  adjustment  to  environment.  This 
sometliing  more  is,  in  the  case  of  the  loyal  member  of 
the  community,  an  interpretation  of  the  circumstances 
as  an  occasion  to  realise  an  end  which  belongs  to  him 
as  man.  Whether  this  end  is  conceived  of  in  terms  of 
internal  worth — in  which  case  the  circumstances  would 
be  interpreted  as  an  occasion  for  exhibiting  the  qualities 
and  developing  the  character  of  a  man — or  of  social 
good — in  which  case  the  conduct  would  seem  to  be 
demanded  by  the 

"  Relations  dear,  and  all  the  charities 
Of  father,  son,  and  brother  " — 

it  does  not  matter.  The  point  is  that  the  conceptiojt  is 
there  as  an  ideal,  and,  as  such,  is  the  vital  element  in 
the  stage  of  progress  represented  by  our  illustration. 

Similarly  in  the  other  examples  which  were  cited 
above.  The  Jews  were  no  doubt  forced  into  closer 
union  under  their  theocratic  government  by  the  pressure 
of  their  environment,  and  the  necessity  to  present  a  solid 
resistance  to  their  enemies.  But  to  interpret  this  neces- 
sity in  terms  to  which  the  human  spirit  could  respond, 
to  formulate  the  duties  which  were  involved  in  the  main- 
tenance of  their  peculiar  form  of  organisation  as  elements 
in  a  national  life,  and  incorporate  them  in  such  a  body  of 
moral  and  religious  precept  as  we  find  in  their  literature, 
required  the  interpreting,  idealising  reason  of  successive 
generat'ons  of  law-givers,  judges,  and  priests.  Again, 
humanitarian  ideas  began  to  spread  after  Roman  con- 
quest had  broken  down  the  proud  isolation  of  Jew  and 
Greek;  but  before  the  new  conditions  introduced  by  the 
Fax  Romana  could  become  the  occasion  of  a  moral 
advance,   they  required  the  moral    enthusiasm   of    the 


232  Ethics  [Bk.  V 

Christian  apostles  *  and  the  reflective  insight  of  the  Stoic 
philosophers  to  interpret  them.  The  Protestant  form 
of  organisation  is  likely  to  survive  the  Roman  Catholic, 
owing  to  its  superior  adaptation  to  the  environment;  but 
part  of  that  environment  is  just  the  demand  of  the  human 
spirit  for  liberty  of  thought  and  conscience  as  an  essential 
element  in  the  ideal  of  personal  good.  The  democratic 
form  of  government  is  undoubtedly  that  which  is  best 
adapted  to  modern  conditions,  and  may  be  expected  to 
survive  and  propagate  itself;  but  it  was  the  moral  enthu- 
siasm for  the  "  rights  of  man  "  at  the  end  of  the  last  century 
and  the  beginning  of  this,  and  not  the  break-down  of  an 
economic  system,  which  created  modern  democracy.! 
With  regard  to  slavery  we  have  already  seen  how  the 
moral  consciousness  of  mankind  protested  against  it,  as 
early  as  the  time  of  the  Cynics  (p.  117).  It  is  true, 
indeed,  that  it  was  economically  played  out  as  a  form 
of  labour  before  its  abolition  came,  and  that,  apart  from 
the  apprehension  of  this  fact,  its  general  abolition  among 
civilised  nations  might  have  been  delayed  for  several 
generations.  Yet  it  may  well  be  doubted  whether,  even 
after  the  discovery  of  its  economic  failure  had  been 
made,  this  would  in  itself  have  been  sufificient  to  break 
through   the    crust    of    prejudice    and    habit,    behind 

*  Cp.  George  Eliot's  fine  saying,  "  The  great  world-struggle  of 
developing  thought  is  continually  foreshadowed  in  the  struggle  of 
the  affections  seeking  a  justification  for  love  and  hope P 

t  Napoleon  has  been  called  "  the  matricide  of  democracy,"  in  that, 
while  it  was  the  democratic  movement  in  Europe  which  may  be  said 
to  have  given  him  birth,  he  did  his  best  to  strangle  it.  The  saying 
might  be  true  if  democracy  were  the  effect  merely  of  adaptation  to 
environment,  and  not  an  elemental  force  in  human  nature,  whose 
expression  in  suitable  social  forms  an  individual  may  delay,  but 
cannot  prevent. 


Ch.  Ill]  The  Standard  as  Ideal  233 

which  the  institution  was  entrenched,  but  for  the  moral 
enthusiasm  which  accompanied,  and,  on  any  rational 
interpretation  of  history,  was  independent  of  it. 

Wherever  then,  as  in  all  these  cases,  we  have  accom- 
panying changes  in  the  material  conditions  of  human 
existence,  an  extension  and  enrichment  of  the  moral 
standard  in  the  sense  explained  in  the  preceding  chap- 
ter, this  is  to  be  traced,  in  the  last  resort,  to  the  reaction 
upon  the  changed  circumstances  of  conscious  intelligence 
applying,  in  the  method  characteristic  of  it  as  such,  a 
higher  standard  than  is  as  yet  represented  by  any  exist- 
ing form  of  social  organisation. 

§  99.    The  Social  Reformer  and  Martyr 

The  interpreter  and  administrator  of  this  ideal 
standard  is  the  social  reformer,  with  his  brother,  the 
martyr  for  ideal  causes.  As  the  power  to  explain  the 
phenomena  of  their  lives — their  manifest  disregard  of  all 
standards  of  individual  or  social  utility  in  the  narrower 
sense — may  be  taken  as  the  criterion  of  any  ethical 
theory,  I  may  close  this  discussion  by  submitting  the 
view  set  forth  in  the  preceding  pages  to  this  test. 
That  the  "naturalistic"  theory  of  ethics  has  failed  to 
satisfy  it,  we  may  take  upon  the  authority  of  the  admis- 
sions of  the  most  candid  of  its  exponents.*  On  the 
view  we  have  developed,  on  the  other  hand,  these  phe- 
nomena are  perfectly  comprehensible.  'The  reformer  I 
should  define  merely  as  one  who  sits  closer  to  conscience 
in  the  sense  explained  than  the  run  of  his  neighbours. 
He  is  the  child  of  the  ideal,  as  opposed  to  the  majority 

*  See  Mr.  Leslie  Stephen,  Science  of  Ethics,  pp.  42S,  430. 


234  Ethics  [Bk.  v 

around  him,  who  might  be  described  as  ''  the  children  of 
the  status  quo,'"  *  and  is  accordingly  as  "one  born  out  of 
due  season."  But  this  does  not  mean  that  existing  forms 
are  meaningless  to  him.  On  the  contrary,  he  is  just 
the  man  who  understands  them,  for  he  can  see  them  as 
organically  related  to  the  ideal  which  he  cherishes,  bear- 
ing the  same  relation  to  primitive  conceptions  of  that 
ideal  as  the  institutions  or  reforms  he  works  for  bear  to 
its  fuller  development  in  his  own  mind  and  that  of  his 
party  or  disciples.  Loyalty,  however,  to  ancestral  wis- 
dom does  not  with  him  consist  in  blind  acceptance  of  its 
creations.  On  the  contrary,  such  blind  acquiescence  in 
the  status  quo  is  treason  to  the  idealising,  innovating  spirit 
to  which,  in  its  own  day,  the  status  itself  was  due.  As 
has  been  well  remarked,  the  opponents  of  useful  reforms 
are  drawn  from  the  same  class  as  at  the  outset  blindly 
resisted  the  establishment  of  the  form  or  institution  to 
which  they  themselves  blindly  cling.  Those  who  build 
the  sepulchres  of  the  prophets  and  garnish  the  tombs  of 
the  righteous  are  the  children  of  those  who  slew  them. 
On  the  other  hand,  in  demanding  the  reform  of  institu- 
tions as  they  are,  the  reformer  is  only  demanding  room 
for  a  fuller  expression  of  the  ideal  which  they  represent, 
and  apart  from  which  they  are  meaningless.  He  is  only 
carrying  on  the  work  which  the  reason  and  conscience 
of  those  who  went  before  have  begun,  reacting  on  the 
given  conditions  as  his  own  reason  and  conscience  now 
react.  He  feels  himself  the  representative  of  those 
who  have  gone  before.  Their  ideal  is  his  ideal.  It 
constitutes  his  true  self.  His  deepest  interest  is  to 
realise  it.     Talents,  time,  fortune,  friends,  station,  life 

*  M.  Arnold's  libellous  definition  of  the  English  aristocracy. 


Ch.  Ill]  The  Standard  as  Ideal  235 

itself,  are  of  value  to  him  only  in  so  far  as  they  offer 
him  an  opportunity  of  working  for  it.  Apart  from  such 
opportunity,  they  are  valueless  to  him;  if  they  rob  him 
of  it  (as  they  will  if,  in  order  to  retain  them,  he  is 
tempted  to  deny  the  supremacy  of  his  ideal),  they  may 
even  become  an  object  of  hatred  and  disgust.  To  love 
his  life  in  this  sense  may  be  to  lose  it;  to  hate  it  may 
be  to  find  it. 


THE    END 


Bibliography  237 


BIBLIOGRAPHY 

Of  some  of  the  Chief  English  Works  on  Ethics  {arranged  as 
mitch  as  possible  according  to  Schools  and  Dates) . 

I.  Early  Intuitionalism 

Shaftesbury,   {yd)  Earl  (1713)  ;    ed.   Hatch,  with    notes. 

1869. 
Butler,   Bishop  Joseph.     Scnnons   (1726)  ;    Dissertation  on 

Virtue  (1729) .      (Both  in  Butler's  Analogy  and  Sermons. 

Bohn's  Library.) 
Hutcheson,  Francis.      System  of  Moral  Philosophy  (i755)- 

See  T.  Fowler's  Shaftesbury  and  Hutcheson.      1883. 
Smith,*  Adam.     Theory  of  the  Moral  Sentiments  (1759)- 

II.  Later  Intuitionalism 

Price,  Richard.     Review  of  Chief  Questions  and  Difficulties 

of  Morals  (1757). 
Reid,  Thomas.     Outlines  of  Moral  Philosophy  (1793);    ed. 

McCosh.     1863. 
Stewart,  Dugald.     Outlines  of  Moral  Philosophy  (1793);  ed. 

McCosh.     1869. 
Whewell,  William.     Elements  of  Morality  {\Z\%).     1864. 
Calderwood,  Henry.     Handbook  of  Moral  Philosophy  { 1 872) . 

1888. 

*  There  are  other  elements  in  Adam  Smith's  ethics  which  relate 
him  to  the  Utilitarians.  The  same  is  true,  though  in  lesser  degree, 
of  all  the  earlier  writers  here  mentioned. 


23S  Ethics 

Martineau,  James.      Types  of  Ethical  TJieory,  2  vols.  (1885). 

1886. 
Lawrie,  S.  S.     EtJiica.     1885. 
Porter,  Noah.     Tlie  Elements  of  Moral  Science,     1885. 


III.   Egoistic  Hedonism 

Hobbes,  Thos.  Elonenta  Pliilosophice  de  Cive  (1642).  De 
Corpore  Politico ;  or,  tlie  Elonents  of  Law,  Moral  and 
Political  (1650).     Leviathan  (1651).      1885. 

Mandeville,  Bernard  de.     TJie  Fable  of  the  Bees  (1714). 


IV.   Utilitarianism 

Locke,*  John.  Essay  concerning  the  Human  Understandings 
Book  I.,  chs.  iii.  and  iv.  (1690).     1868. 

Hartley,  David.     Observations  on  Man  (1748). 

Hume,  David.  Enquiry  concerning  the  Principles  of  Morals 
(1751).  Works;  ed.  Green  and  Grove,  4  vols.  1882. 
Essays,  Literary,  Moral,  and  Political  (1742).     1875. 

Paley,  William .  Principles  of  Moral  and  Political  Philosophy 
(1785).      1S59. 

Bentham,  Jeremy.  Introduction  to  the  Principles  of  Morals 
and  Legislation  (1789).  1876.  Edited  in  2  vols,  sepa- 
rate from  Deontology  (posthumous).  Works  by  J.  Bow- 
ring  (1834). 

Mill,  James.  Analysis  of  the  Human  Mind,  chs.  xvii.-xxiii. 
(1829).     1878. 

Mill,  John  Stuart.     Utilitarianis7n  {iZd^).     1871. 

Bain,  Alexander.     Mental  a?id  Moral  Science  {i2>6^).     1872. 

Sidgwick,  Henry.     Methods  of  Ethics  {i2>j^).      1890. 

Hodgson,  Shadworth  H.     Theory  of  Practice,  2  vols.     1870. 

Fowler,  Thomas.     Progressive  Morality.     1884. 

V.  Gizycki,  G.  Students''  Manual  of  Ethical  Philosopiiy ; 
adapted  by  Stanton  Coit.     1889. 

*  Locke  is  difficult  to  class.     See  Sidg^vick's  Histo7y  of  Ethics; 
Fowler's  Locke  {English  Men  of  Letters'),  ch.  ix.  init. 


Bibliography  239 


V.   Evolutionary  Ethics 

Darwin,  Charles.     Descent  of  Man  (1871),  chs.  i.-v.  and  xxi. 

1883. 
Spencer,  Herbert.     Data  of  Ethics  {1^7 g).     1887. 
Clifford,  W.  K.     Lectures  and  Essays  {\^J^).     1886. 
Stephen,  Leslie.     Science  of  Ethics.     1882. 
Alexander,  Samuel.     Moral  Order  and  Progress.     1889. 


VI.   Early  Idealists 

Cudworth,  Ralph.     Etertial  and  Immutable  Morality  (posth. 

1688). 
Cumberland,  Richard.     De  Legibi/s  N'aturcr  (1672). 
Clarke,  Samuel.     Boyle  Lectures  (1704). 


VII.   Nineteenth-Cextury  Idealists 

Caird,  Edward.     The   Critical  Philosophy  of  Kant  (1877), 

2  vols.     1890. 
Green,  T.  H.     Prolegomena  to  Ethics  (1883).     1887. 
Bradley,  F.  H.     Ethical  Studies.     1876. 
Sorley,  W.  R.     Ethics  of  Naturalism.     1885. 
Courtney,  W.  L.     Constructive  Ethics.     1886. 
Royce,  Josiah.     Religious  Aspect  of  Philosophy .     1887. 
Mackenzie,  J.  S.     Introduction  to  Social  Philosophy .     1890. 
Lotze.     Practical  Philosophy.     1890. 
Dewey,  J.     Outlines  of  a  Critical  Theory  of  Ethics.     1891. 


History 

Sidgwick,  H.       Outlines   of  the  History   of  Ethics  {\\ 

1888. 
See  also  Sonnenschein's  Library  of  Philosophy  (in  progress). 


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UNIVERSITY    MANUALS 


THE   STUDY   OF   ANIMAL   LIFE 

By  J.  Arthur  Thomson,  M.A.,  F.R.S.E.,  University 

of  Edinburgh.     i2mo,  Illustrated,  $1.50   net. 

An  original  and  comprehensive  account  of  all  animal  life,  save 
man.  Such  topics  as  the  wealth  of  life  on  the  earth,  its  distri- 
bution, the  struggle  for  existence,  the  social  and  domestic  life  of 
animals,  instinct,  structure,  heredity,  influence  of  habit  and  sur- 
roundings, etc.,  are  thoroughly  discussed,  though  in  a  bright  and 
interesting  way,  and  with  the  fact  constantly  in  mind  that  the 
book    is   a  manual    and  not  a  cyclopoedia  or   a  special  treatise. 

"  I  have  read  it  with  great  delight.  It  is  an  admirable  work,  giving  a  true 
view  of  the  existing  state  and  tendencies  of  z^ology  ;  and  it  possesses  the  rare 
merit  of  being  an  elementary  work,  written  from'the  standpoint  of  the  most 
advanced  thought,  and  in  a  manner  to  be  understood  bv  the  beginning  stu- 
dent."—J.  H.  COMSTOCK,  Pn\fessor  of  Evtomology  in  Cornhill  University, 
and  in  Lelaiid  Sta7tford  Junior  University. 

"An  interesting  and  stimulating  book,  especially  so  for  teachers.  The 
style  is  clear  and  attractive,  and  the  illustrations  excellent.  The  views  taken 
as  to  evolution  and  heredity  are  sound  and  broad." — A.  S.  Packard,  Professor 
0/  Zoology,  Brown  Unii>ersity. 


THE   ELEMENTS   OF   ETHICS 

An  Introduction  to  INIoral  Philosopliy.  By  J.  II.  MuiRHEAD, 
M.A.,  Royal  Holloway  College,  England.  i2mo,  $1.00  net ; 
introduction  price,  80  cents  net. 

Contents  :  Book  I.  The  Science  of  Ethics :  Problem  of,  Can  there  be  a 
Science  of.  Scope  of  the  Science — Book  II.  Moral  Judgment  :  Object  of. 
Standard  of,  Moral  Law — Book  III.  Theories  of  the  End  :  As  Pleasure,  As 
Self-sacrifice,  Evolutionary  Hedonism — Book  IV.  The  End  as  Good  :  As 
Common  Good,  Forms  of  the  Good — Book  V.  Moral  Progress  :  Standard 
As  Relative,  As  Progressive,  As  Ideal — Bibliography. 

"  With  admirable  clearness  defines  the  fields,  analyzes  ethical  phenomena, 
subjects  theories  of  various  schools  to  searching  criticism,  and  builds  up  in 
logical  fashion  his  own  system.  An  idealist,  .  .  .  can  render  good  reasons 
for  the  faitti  that  is  in  him.  Spirit  tolerant,  method  scientific,  style  easy  and 
graceful." — Public  Opinion. 

"The  is  no  other  introduction  which  can  be  recommended." 

—  Tlie  Acadeiny,  London. 

Returnalile  examination  copy  to  Instructors,  with  view  to 
class  use,  at  Introduction  price. 


UNIVERSITY    MANUALS 


THE    EARTH'S   HISTORY 

An  Introduclion  to  Modern  Geology.  By  R.  D.  Roberts, 
M.A. ,  Camb.,  D. Sc,  Lond.  With  colored  Maps  and  Illustra- 
tions.     l2mo,  $1.50  net. 

The  purpose  of  this  volume  is  to  furnish  a  sketch  of  the  methods  and 
chief  resuhs  of  geological  inquiry,  such  as  a  student,  or  a  reader  interested 
in  the  subject  for  its  own  sake,  would  desire  to  obtain.  It  is  shown  that 
Geology  is  not  a  mere  description  of  rocks  and  fossils,  but  a  history,  and 
the  purpose  of  the  geologist  is  to  reconstruct  from  ancient  fragmentary 
remains  the  old  conditions  that  characterized  successive  stages  of  develop- 
ment— in  a  word,  to  make  out  the  life  history  of  the  earth.  Some  of  the 
problems  are  :  the  nature  of  the  crust  movements  to  which  land-areas  and 
mountain  ranges  are  due  ;  what  was  the  distribution  of  land  and  water  when 
each  group  of  rocks  was  formed  ;  what  the  extent  and  contour  of  the  land 
were,  the  condition  of  its  surface  and  the  forms  of  life  ;  what  the  oceanic 
conditions,  depths,  life  inhabiting  the  water,  nature  and  extent  of  the 
materials  brought  down  by  rivers. 

The  records  of  this  series  of  events  are  to  be  found  in  the  successive 
groups  of  rocks,  and  the  chief  object  of  this  volume  is  to  present  in  broad 
outline  results  of  geological  research  which  throw  light  upon  the  structural 
history  of  the  earth,  and  the  method  by  which  that  history  is  worked 
out. 


THE   FRENCH    REVOLUTION 

By   Charles    E.    Mallet,    Balliol    College,    Oxford.       i2mo, 
$1.00  net. 

Contents  :  Introductory — I.  Condition  of  France  in  the  Eighteenth  Cen- 
tury— II.  Last  Years  of  the  Ancient  Regime — III.  The  Early  Days  of  the 
Revolution — IV.  Labours  of  the  Constituent  Assembly — V.  Parties  and  Poli- 
ticians under  the  Constituent  Assembly — VI.  The  Rise  of  the  Jacobin 
Party — VII.  Influence  of  the  War  upon  the  Revolution — VIII.  Fall  of  the 
Gironde — IX.  The  Jacobins  in  Power — X.  The  Struggle  of  Parties  and 
the  Ascendency  of  Robespierre — XI.  The  Reaction — Tables  of  Dates — 
Appendi.x  of  Books — Inde.\. 

This  book  has  a  special  value  to  students  and  readers  who  do  not  own  the 
great  works  of  such  writers  as  De  Tocqueville,  Taine,  Michelet,  and  Von  Sybel; 
for  it  summarizes  what  t;.ese  and  other  writers  tell  us.  Mr.  Mallet  presents 
economic  and  political  aspects  of  society  before  the  Revolution  ;  attempts  to 
explain  why  the  Revolution  came  ;  why  the  men  who  made  it  failed  to  attain 
the  liberty  they  so  ardently  desired,  or  to  found  the  new  order  which  they  hoped 
to  see  in  France  ;  by  what  arts  and  accident*,  owing  to  what  deeper  causes,  an 
inconspicuous  minority  gradually  grew  into  a  victorious  p.irty  ;  how  external 
circumstances  kept  the  revolutionary  fever  up,  and  forceil  the  Uevolulion  for- 
ward. He  undertakes  to  make  clear  the  mysttry  of  the  time,  the  real  character 
and  aims  of  the  men  v/ho  grasped  the  supreme  power  in  1793-4,  who  held  it 
with  such  a  co'nblnatlon  of  energy  and  folly,  of  heroism  and  crime,  and  who 
proceeded,  through  anarchy  and  terror,  to  exoeriment  how  social  misery  could 
be  extinguished  and  universal  felicity  attained,  by  drastic  philosophic  remedies, 
applied  by  despots,  and  enforced  by  death.  History  offers  no  problem  of  more 
surpassing  interest,  and  none  more  perplexing  or  obscure. 


UNIVERSITY    MANUALS 


THE   PHYSIOLOGY   OF  THE   SENSES 

By  John  McKendrick,  Professor  of  Physiology  in  the  Uni- 
versity of  Glasgow,  and  Dr.  Snodgrass,  Physiological  Labor- 
atory, Glasgow.      Many  Illustrations.      i2mo,  $i.oo  net. 

I.  Touch,  Taste,  and  Smell.      2.  The  Sense  of  Sight.      3.  Sound  and  Hearing. 

CHAPTERS   IN    MODERN    BOTANY 

By  Patrick  (jeddes,  Professor  of  Botany,  University  College, 
Dundee.      Illustrations.      l2mo,  $  net. 

Contents:  I.  and  II.  Pitcher  Plants — III.  Other  Insectivorous  Plants, 
Difficulties  and  Criticisms — IV.  and  V.  Movement  and  Nervous  Action  in 
Plants — VI.  The  Web  of  Life — VII.  Relations  between  Piants  and  Animals 
— VIII.  Spring  and  its  Studies  ;  Geographical  Distribution  and  World  Land- 
scapes ;  Seedling  and  Hud — IX.  Leaves^X.  Suggestions  and  Further  Study. 


OUTLINES  OF  ENGLISH  LITERATURE.       By   William   Renton, 
University  of  St.  Andrews.     i2mo,  $1.00  «6'/.     Ready. 

LOGIC,     INDUCTIVE    AND    DEDUCTIVE.        By   William    Minto, 
University  of  Aberdeen.     Ready. 

THE  PHILOSOPHY  OF  THE  BEAUTIFUL.     By  William  Knight, 
Professor  of  Philosophy,  University  of  St.  Andrews.     Part  II.     Ready. 

COMPARATIVE    RELIGION.       By   Prof.    Menzies,   University    of   St. 
Andrews.     In  preparation. 

THE  ENGLISH  NOVEL  FROM  ITS  ORIGIN  TO  SIR  WALTER 
SCOTT.     By  Prof.  Raleigh,  University  College,  Liverpool. 

PROBLEMS     OF     POLITICAL     ECONOMY.       By    M.    E.    Sadler, 
.Senior  Student  of  Christ  Church,  Oxford. 

PSYCHOLOGY  :    A    HISTORICAL    SKETCH.       By  Prof.  Seth.  Uni- 
versity of  St.  Andrews. 

ENERGY    IN     NATURE.       An    Introduction    to   Physical    Science.      By 
John  Cox,  Trinity  College,  Cambridge. 

THE   HISTORY  OF  ASTRONOMY.      By  Arthur  Berry,  Kings  Col- 
lege, Cambridge. 

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